


Freed: Tale of the Apprentice

by fojee



Series: Call of the Stone [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aka canon reshuffle, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sequel, Voldemort-free universe, Written 7 years after first story, alternative universe, blame Tom Marvolo (Riddle), established relationships - Freeform, for demanding screen time, isn't exactly right, that I suck at writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fojee/pseuds/fojee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter very probably has bitten off more than he can chew. This is the tale of his apprenticeship under Master Arugba the stone smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 7 years after Bound, I reread it, and all the questions came back to me. (Where's Remus? Where are all the women? What happens next?)
> 
> This is more meandering with no end in sight yet, though I do have something of an outline. The writing is certainly very different, and I have Harry running around so much that he and Severus can't have any decent scene together. So for the shippers, my apologies. I've also fallen in love with MY original characters... Hahahaha.

Prologue

"You dare!" The goblin hissed in the tongue. He sat at the central chair around the tables laid out in an open box. "Our sorcery was not meant for human hands."

Arugba rocked back on his heels, but his expression did not change. "Harry showed a certain sensitivity. I tested him and found him worthy." 

"On what grounds? You were barely made master by the guild, and you swore an oath never to take a student under your vein."

Arugba raised a finger. "A _goblin_ student. There were no restrictions otherwise. It was a matter of purity, I remember. Well, the goblins of the guild remain pure in their lore. But under my vein, I will delve as I see fit." He tried to rein in his temper, and uncovered the sword from its container at his feet. "If you require proof, then you must read the stone."

The rest of the goblins peered closer to the length of iron.

"Roughly hewn," one goblin pronounced with derision. "Barely sharp enough for kitchen work."

"Harry," Arugba said slowly, "forged this blade from a mountain. I felt it in my bones and I know you in your burrows felt it too." They could not gainsay his truth, for the whole of the mountain had trembled, and every goblin within a thousand miles had sensed it thus.

"Strength, indeed your Harry has," one of the other goblins said. "Strength of three goblins surely. But he had made this blade under a vampire's yoke. One which has since then broken. Perhaps his true self is weak."

"Perhaps," another spoke. "But either way, he must be tried and trained. Once woken, sorcery cannot be caged."

"Under your vein, he will dwell." The youngest of the guild pronounced, and the words were the ones he had come to hear. 

The rest of the guild were reluctant but they all murmured in agreement, "Under your vein."

But the oldest of the guild held out a hand. "Before he gains a measure of mastery, Harry Potter cannot enter any goblin dwelling, and the tunnels will be barred from him. Transfer the contents of his vault into our aboveground installation."

"That is fair," Arugba agreed.

One asked him while he covered up the sword once more. "Will you make a Delver out of the boy? Or shall he fashion trinkets for the rest of his days?" It was no secret what they thought of his work.

Arugba raised his eyebrows. It was almost an insult to be questioned thus, for once a student was assigned, no other master may gainsay him. "He makes his own path. A Delver perhaps, or even a Builder. We shall see."

At that, the goblins grudgingly agreed, for any student must be allowed to find their own way. 

\---

Master Arugba had arrived late to the get-together at the Love Nest.

Harry had not returned to the workshop while studying for his N.E.W.T.s. Or that had been his excuse. Maybe it was the associations, or maybe that last working he did took too much out of him. He felt guilty about it and greeted the smith warmly to cover his ambivalence.

He was carrying a long package wrapped in black velvet. “A gift for Harry,” Arugba said, handing it to him. 

He knew it for what it was. He took out the sword he had forged from stone on top of a mountain. It looked very different, with a hilt shaped into two snakes intertwined. Their eyes were made of emeralds.

Its weight and heft fit him like a glove.

“There is obsidian now, added to the iron,” Arugba said. “It holds an edge longer.”

Harry shook his head. “But the last person who used it...” Quirinus Quirrell. The vampire had used the blade to cut himself and call on Harry's bloodlust. And he had wounded Severus with it.

“Blooded both by friend and foe,” Severus mused from behind him. “It helped us defeat him, Harry. And in the end, it is just a weapon. It is the wielder we must fight against, not the sword in his hand.”

“And Quirrell’s dead,” Harry said. It was a sentence he had repeated to himself often in the last few months, as if he still needed convincing.

“And Quirrell’s mere ashes on a mountain top,” Severus agreed before bowing gracefully to Master Arugba. “We thank you, sir, for such a gift.”

Harry bowed, too, his grip on the sword tightening. He swore it was humming, maybe even purring in his grip.

Arugba raised both eyebrows before murmuring placidly. "I will see you at the workshop in two days, Harry Potter. An apprentice must be prompt."

Harry's mouth opened in astonishment even as he watched the stone smith leave through the floo. Severus nudged it close. "You idiot. You didn't even know?"

"Uh, how long…"

"Seven years is the common length for apprenticeships especially if under a guildcraft," Severus informed him. "Then three years as a journeyman before you can be a master. But that's for humans. I'm not sure if goblin rules will apply."

"Um," Harry said intelligently.


	2. The Runaway Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. I just got stuck with Ron and Hermione basically. And also the Plot. Hahaha.

"What's it like to grow up in the Burrow?" 

George stretched his arms and put his hands behind his head. "Well, crowded of course. It was good training for concentration under extreme conditions. Good training for fast reflexes too, come dinner time."

Harry peeked into the dining room where Luna Lovegood was interviewing George. Fred was in the sitting room, leafing through some ancient muggle cookbook. 

"Why aren't you in there with George?" He murmured.

Fred shrugged. "She wanted to do a special on How to Tell the Weasley Twins Apart. She'll do me next."

Luna looked very different outside of her black Hogwarts robes. She had her almost white hair tied back, and she wore a muggle reporter's vest in the improbable shade of electric blue over a short cream robe that showed off her legs. And her green wellies. 

"I never imagined her as a journalist," Harry mused. "She used to ask the weirdest questions in class."

"The Quibbler is her father's little pet project. She probably got hummed to sleep by the clacks of that printing press. Besides, odd questions get the most interesting answers sometimes." Fred raised both eyes at Harry. "She'd love to interview you too, mate."

Harry had rejected all the requests for interviews immediately after the whole vampire thing came out. His denial was almost automatic.

"Might as well do it. Otherwise, you'll get more of that trash." Fred nodded at the paper on the side table. The speculations in The Prophet have become almost lurid. 

Harry bit his thumb. "Maybe." He was a little tired of having to wear disguises all the time when going out in public. Not that he did that much. Here he was, hanging out at the Love Nest on his day off. "Where's Daniel anyway?" 

Fred's face tightened and he closed the cookbook with exaggerated care. "Well, that's the question, innit?"

Before he could elaborate, the fire turned green and Ron's head appeared in the flames. He looked frantic, not even noticing Harry in the room. "Fred! Hermione's missing!"

\---

The sun was too hot. Hermione Granger contemplated the menu posted at Fortescue's window but her funds were limited. She didn't want ice cream, anyway. She wanted an empty corner in which she can sit down and cry.

"Hey!" She heard behind her, and someone ran past and slammed into her shoulder. Her bag fell on the ground and she almost followed face first. But a hand grabbed ahold of her by the back of her robes and she stumbled back. "Bollocks! Are you okay?" She blinked up at the tall girl who had saved her.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, before bursting into tears. 

Violet Applesnare scrunched her nose, throwing a glare at the direction of the slimy thief who had paid for his purchases with leprechaun gold. She'd have caught him too. But Hermione's crying was beginning to draw stares so she scooped up the bag from the ground and led the younger girl gently inside the WWWs.

"Do you want a cuppa?" She asked when Hermione had been installed in a chair in the backroom. 

Hermione nodded wanly after the spate of tears had passed. "Thank you." 

The water was very quickly boiled and the tea poured into two big mugs. It was strong and sweet and perfect. She sipped at it while looking around. The backroom was small and crowded with boxes. On the wall was one of the calendars that had been super popular at school, with the adverts of all sorts of celebrities. There was a table beside her piled high with parchment, a sink and a cold-box beside a hotplate. And at a corner was a fireplace, beside another door that led to a bathroom.

"So you work here for the twins, right?" She asked shyly, glancing at her saviour. She had rainbow-coloured hair pulled back in a high bun. And she had on a short patterned red robe over black tights. It could almost pass as a muggle outfit. She was leaning against one wall, holding her mug.

"Yeah," the older girl answered. "I was working at Hogsmeade while at school, but moved out here in London after I graduated, so the twins were a lifesaver. I'm Violet, by the way."

"Hermione," she answered back. "Sorry to be a bother."

Violet shrugged. "It's fine. Slow day, anyway. But are you okay?" She asked hesitantly.

Hermione flushed. "I don't suppose you've heard--"

"That you're pregnant? Fred can't keep a secret to save his life," Violet said, snorting. "And George was complaining about their mother working their owl Errol to death planning the wedding."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Yeah, Molly's been... yeah." She felt a little bit like heaving and pretended to herself that it's the morning sickness.

Violet raised an eyebrow as the pieces fell into place. "The twins are bad enough. I bet things at the Burrow are pretty crazy right now." 

Hermione's wince said it all.

Violet nudged at her bag with one foot. "You ran away?"

The younger girl nodded in misery. "I feel like I got swept up in a whirlwind, and I can't feel the ground. I mean, graduating is hard enough, you know? Without all this on top of it."

Violet nodded. "Got all your plans derailed?"

Hermione snorted at the understatement. "I'm sure Ron's looking for me right now. But I can't go back, and I can't go home either because my parents are horrified by all this, and they tried their best to be supportive of the whole magic thing but they really don't get it either. I just need _time_ and _space_ \--" She bit her tongue to keep from babbling any more.

Violet tapped a finger on the rim of her mug. "I'm sure the twins will take you in. And they have space now that Harry's officially started his apprenticeship." But Hermione was already shaking her head.

"The thing is," she said quietly. "Ron didn't even ask me. _Nobody_ asked me. They all just assumed that we'll get married. I guess it's a wizarding thing."

Violet nodded sharply, straightening up. "Then you'll stay with me. I can tell the twins and they can hold the rest of the clan off."

"Oh, I couldn't," Hermione started, but Violet waved off her protests.

"There's enough space, I promise." Her smile was a little bleak, but very kind. "And maybe we can negotiate for enough time as well. But I still have an hour or so left on my shift, so why don't you owl Ron an update and I'll just tidy up around here."

"Why?" Hermione blurted out. "You don't even know me. Why are you helping me?"

Violet set down her mug beside the teapot on the tiny kitchen counter. "Because I know what it's like to have your parents disappoint you or maybe vice-versa. When my little sister turned eleven, she didn't get her Hogwarts letter. My parents were going to obliviate her and leave her in a muggle orphanage, but I refused, and they disowned me. I became her de facto guardian when I was fifteen. I almost failed that year, but someone helped me out."

Hermione swallowed down the million questions that had risen to her throat. Violet was grateful for that. It's only been three years, and the wound was still raw sometimes. "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled.

Violet smiled at her. "Just say 'thank you, Violet.' And go send that owl."

Hermione looked down at the milky depths of her half-filled mug. "Thank you. I'll just uh, head out now." She lifted her chin. She knew exactly what she would write.

\---

Harry, as well as a very serene Luna, got swept along with the twins, and he found himself once more inside the familiar walls of the Burrow. It had been over a year since he saw Ron last and he looked a little taller and thinner. He was running both hands through his hair trying to explain.

"She's been crying a lot. I mean, she puts up privacy spells but I hear them anyway because of how the house echoes. And I wanted to get her to meet with a Healer, but mum said it was common with pregnant witches, just fluctuations in magic. But this afternoon, she was supposed to be helping mum with some pickling. And she didn't come down from her bedroom. And Ginny's out playing quidditch so she hadn't seen her all day, and what if someone abducted her, or she got into an acci--"

"Calm down, brother-dear." George finally intervened, putting both hands on Ron's shoulders and making him sit down on one of the sofas. "She could have gone out for a bit of shopping, or maybe for a walk somewhere. There's no reason to panic, at least not yet."

Fred had gone upstairs to where Ginny and Hermione were sharing a room, while Luna had sidled into the kitchen to talk to Molly. Harry felt like he shouldn't be there, and would have escaped back through the fire when Fred bounded down again.

"Most of her things are missing," he announced. "You got yourself a runner, Ronniekins."

George frowned at his twin's lack of tact. But Ron's face had turned the colour of puce and he covered his eyes and moaned. 

Just as Harry was contemplating an awkward sort of reassurance, Molly called out from the kitchen. "It's not a big deal, sweetheart. Just some pre-wedding jitters. She wants you to chase her down and woo her a little more."

George looked skeptical but did not disagree with his mother. He rapped a knuckle on Ron's still-bowed head. "You could have asked for a Contraceptus potion, you know. We wouldn't have charged you."

"Hermione made her own," Ron mumbled. "I don't know why that last batch failed, but she's been reading through a whole bunch of potion journals trying to figure it out." He looked up at them with glassy eyes. "She hasn't been happy about any of this, but she isn't talking to me, either."

An owl swooped in through an open window. Fred's swift reflexes caught the bird before it could dive down to Ron. "Well it's either a ransom note or a Dear John letter."

George boxed Fred's ear, snatching the envelope and handing it to Ron. Harry had perched onto an empty chair, trying to act as if he had on an invisible cloak. The owl hooted, circling the room once before departing. Harry recognized it as one of the regulars down at Diagon Alley, but he kept his mouth shut.

Fred tried to read over Ron's shoulder, but George wrestled him down on an armchair, sitting on him and muttering, "Behave!" Fred pouted, but did not try to dislodge his twin.

Ron had gotten paler and paler, until his freckles looked like a dash of cinnamon in a bowl of cream. 

Molly bustled in with some sandwiches piled high on a tray, followed by Luna who floated a big pitcher of juice and a gaggle of glasses with utmost focus. "Well she's fine, isn't she? I told you she'd be. Now how about a snack, boys? Harry! It's been forever!" She looked startled enough to blurt out, "So the vampire thing didn't take, did it?" 

Seeing as Harry was sitting right where the sun was shining, and he wasn't bursting into flames, he answered dryly. "No."

"So what did it say?" Fred demanded his little brother.

Ron gulped down a glass that Luna had handed to him. "Sh-she said the wedding was off."

This was actually what the letter contained. Harry finally got a chance to read it while they were passing it round. It started,

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm going to be staying with a friend for awhile. Please tell your mother to cancel all the plans she had been making for our wedding. It's all too soon, anyway. I haven't even really talked to my parents. I haven't gone through my options. When I have, then we'll talk._

_H. Granger_


	3. A Gift Rarely Given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it started as a throwaway line and snowballed from there. This is still technically a Voldemort-free universe. Technically.

Somewhere after Harry got ahold of Hermione's letter, Ron finally noticed him in the room. But he did not have the energy to dredge up old grudges and so just nodded at him looking miserable. Harry did not know if he felt upset or relieved at the lack of hostility. 

Besides, Ron seemed to get along well enough with the twins. Harry frowned. He had never asked how Fred and George's shared relationship with Daniel had been received at home. Molly seemed to be treating them as usual, asking about the store or their latest products, though she hasn't mentioned their lover's name even once.

She was wary around Harry, of course, and that was only to be expected. Molly had always had a tendency to read the papers as truth. It became so uncomfortable that when Luna excused herself, Harry jumped up and offered to escort her home.

The Lovegoods lived near enough that they walked instead of apparated or traveled by floo. It was sort of nice. The area they lived in was full of other magical families and Luna had given him a little tour.

She was peaceful to be with. They had never really spent much time in each other's company, and only shared a few classes while at Hogwarts. 

"What's it like to be a journalist?" He asked her when they had sighted her house. "Do you get any exciting assignments?"

"My father takes most of those," she answered with a shrug. "He can be quite the tyrant when it comes to editorial decisions. I guess I never realized before because I wasn't getting paid yet. Interviewing the twins have been the first one that really interested me."

"Oh. So you haven't been enjoying it?"

"Well I still have time to write what I want. I just don't get to see it in print in The Quibbler. Mostly I publish it myself when I have some extra coin for cheap parchment. Just little things," she said, holding her hands maybe five inches apart.

"I'd like to see that," Harry said. And was rewarded with a beaming smile from Luna. It transformed her sharp features, softening them somewhat. 

She grabbed his hand and led him inside and up the stairs to her room. It was at the top floor, and there was a telescope pointing out an opening in the roof, towards the sky. It was neat and messy at the same time, with stacks of papers side by side on a long table, and a muggle typewriter on a heavy, elaborately-carved desk. There were tall piles of books like towers forming a cityscape against the walls. 

The bed was shoved at a corner, and he blushed when he saw the purple lace on the bedspread. "Your father might take exception to you having men in your room." 

But Luna just blinked at that. "But we have very incompatible tastes. Anyway, here they are." She picked up a stack and dropped them into Harry's hands. "You can keep those. I always have extra copies. I used to give them away to other Ravenclaw students."

They were palm-sized booklets, stitched together, with handwritten titles and text. There were also some funny drawings in them like doodles of dogs with wagging tails and fluttering snitches. "These are great!" Harry said. "Do you still make them? I bet you can sell them at the twins' store."

"Oh they're not for selling," Luna said.

"Why not?"

Luna opened her mouth and then closed them again. "I don't know."

"Well, I'll keep these for myself," Harry said easily. "But you should give the twins sample copies for when you finish their interviews. I bet they'd be interested. George has great business sense, you know. He can tell if you can make a profit in these."

Before he went through the floo, she told him, "Owl me if you ever change your mind about an interview, Harry."

He nodded. "Maybe I will."

There was no floo inside Master Arugba's workshop. Harry exited through a public fireplace kept alight by the occupants of Artisan's Secret. It was at the end of the street, a little room with some public washrooms in a corner and some flyers pinned to a single bulletin board.

He took a quick look, but there were only adverts for a sale at that dress shop at the corner with the experimental dress robes (he took note because Violet was a fan), and a flyer for the annual concert put on by the Cantatio Conservatoire (Harry winced at seeing it), and a book signing at Flourish and Blott for the author of a book called _Oblivion_ , who was promoting his newest work, _I am Lord Voldemort._ (He wondered who this T. Marvolo was.)

But it was growing dark and so he headed back to where he now lived. Master Arugba lived a very spartan life; his own room could be found in the small basement of his workshop. Harry, on the other hand, had the whole top floor to himself. 

It had been a little over two weeks since he moved. His first few days in his master's care had felt like a dance, he full of uncertainties, and his master full of subtle testing. Gone were the days of crafting stone into little statues or pendants. Instead, he was given books to read, stones to sort, tools to sharpen, fires to tend--for even with magic his master preferred the chisel and the flame for certain objects, such as excising runes onto a medallion, or changing the colour of a stone in the fire. 

The texts were broad of range but strangely confined to muggle ones; he read tomes on architecture, textbooks on geology and chemistry, articles on ley lines, encyclopedias on monuments, history books on mining and smithing. 

Before all this, he hadn't lived in the muggle world since he turned eleven. While staying with the twins the year before, he had explored a little, but only at the peripheries. He passed at first glance, but only now had he realized how little he knew of the rest of the world. 

Most of it flew over his head, especially the chemistry which was only superficially similar to potions class, but Master Arugba answered his questions every night at dinner with a patience that he had never encountered in his Hogwarts professors. (Especially not Severus, the few times he taught a class as a substitute.) Harry wasn't required to memorize symbols or balance equations; he only had to know the elements and their properties and commonly used combinations. 

His N.E.W.T.s had been a breeze in comparison to all these mental calisthenics. But it was nice too. Master Arugba treated him like an equal instead of a slave. (Both Draco and Neville had been writing him of _their_ master.) 

He did ask one night why there were no magical texts on his reading list. His master straightened in his chair, with an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face and answered.

"Stone magic is a gift rarely given, and particular to goblins, and records of its use are strictly guarded. In one of the Goblin Wars, a special library on the subject was sacked and it took several deaths before the goblins could take them back."

Harry's eyes widened, but Master Arugba continued, "The wizards who had tried to do stone magic managed to kill themselves, and their accidents revealed the location of the scrolls. You need not worry, Harry. I would never have taught you if I didn't think you could do it."

That was enough food for thought to last him the week. 

He turned the key into the lock and entered the workshop via the front door, but his master was not there. Well, it was _his_ day off, too. That was one of the strange developments in Harry's magic; if Master Arugba was within a certain range, Harry could pinpoint his location with his eyes closed. When asked about it, his master had merely answered, "Sympathetic magic."

He could well admit he had stumbled onto this new magic in complete ignorance. And had signed up for an apprenticeship without even knowing he had done so. (Severus had scolded him most severely about that.) But it felt right, now. His room, with its recessed bookshelves half-filled, this year's WWWs calendar tacked to the wall, the small but soft bed covered in green, and the set of table and chair in dark fragrant wood: it felt like home.

\---

Hermione didn't know what she was expecting when she followed Violet to her place. Something like the Burrow, perhaps. But Violet had led her through the Floo Exchange at the station and then walked out into the throng of muggles. She looked like she was one of them, Hermione realized, while her own long robes garnered curious looks. She raised her chin and sailed past them all. She's had a lot of practice at Hogwarts, especially after she started getting bullied during first year. Ron and Harry and Neville, and later Ginny and Luna, were the few students who bothered to talk to the Know-it-All. 

This past year, she regretted not making the effort to keep Harry her friend. She didn't have so many that she could afford to lose even one. But she did it for Ron; her boyfriend needed to be number one in her life. She thought maybe Harry understood that.

Now, however, there will have to be a new number one. She thought, absently patting her mostly flat stomach. Ron will have to adjust; and so will she. There'll be books to read about the pregnancy, and about babies and child-rearing. She would have to figure out her financials. And make a plan for the future. She was good at plans. It was going off-script that was difficult.

The downward spiral of her thoughts was halted when Violet grabbed her hand and tugged her up the stairs to a third-floor walk-up flat. 

The neighbourhood wasn't too bad. The buildings were shabby, the paint faded, and what little plots of earth there were looked more like mud-holes than gardens. But there weren't any piles of garbage. And it was well-lit. Somewhere, she could smell the scent of bread baking.

The flat was muggle, but the moment Hermione stepped inside, she could tell that Violet had made magical modifications. The space was much larger inside than out. And each window shimmered with wards. The pictures on the wall were muggle ones though. And there was a television and a radio in a corner, and no fireplace.

"Home sweet home," Violet said, smiling. "Want to take a bit of a nap? Or I could brew you a cuppa and fix you up a hot meal?"

"Both?" Hermione asked. "I mean, maybe I am a little hungry."

"Alright. Why don't you freshen up for a bit while I get things ready." Violet's smile at her was kind, but unsentimental. "It'll be alright, Hermione Granger. I promise you." 

Hermione breathed out, and nodded. "Thank you."

\---

The headmaster had become angrier and angrier as the summer wore on. Even Peeves knew to go into hiding while he walked around the hallways of Hogwarts. The school was mostly empty, surviving on a skeletal staff composed of house-elves. That was a pity, as Severus Snape could do with teachers and students alike to shout at, and shouting at house-elves was just too cruel even for him.

Well there were always the new applicants. 

He slammed the stack of parchment on top of his desk and leaned back on his chair, ignoring the huffs of disapproval from the former headmasters' portraits. One rotund man with a short grey beard tutted at him.

"Feeling frustrated, are we, Snape? Missing your hot, young thing? Has he replaced you with a prettier model?"

Severus glared up at the man, Mortimer Ponds, he remembered his name was. He had been headmaster for all of three days before dying in the Forbidden Forest. At least his ghost wasn't hovering around the castle.

It had been almost a miracle that he and the other headmasters hadn't made lewd jokes or comments that night Harry had come over. But then again, discretion was probably the number one requirement for the job. They just like to torment him when he's alone.

"Harry Potter is of age," he replied evenly. "And his apprenticeship is fairly new and thus requires most of his time and energy. That is all I will say on the matter. What _concerns_ me right now is the dearth of candidates for this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts and History. Now that Binns finally retired, we're really in a bind here. And then Monsieur Michel had to go back home." 

He pressed at the nerve between his eyes. "The Ministry's starting on their threats again. If I ever receive yet another owl from that pink toad in the Education department, I'd sic the Weasley twins on her." He might yet, sneering at the mere memory of Madame Umbridge. She'd step on school grounds over _his_ dead body.

The inhabitant of the portrait on the far right suddenly made an appearance. It was Albus Dumbledore, a version almost indistinguishable from the actual wizard. "Alas, Severus. It is as we feared. Though the vampire contingent failed with their attack on Mr. Potter, the werewolves succeeded."

Severus leaned forward at that, headache forgotten. "Since being infected by Fenris Greyback, Myron Wagtail has been campaigning for better rights for werewolves. The rest of The Weird Sisters are behind him, and even the Cantatio Conservatoire has thrown in their support. They've repealed a lot of the old laws, and have agreed to fund further refinements for your Wolfsbane Potion."

That bit of news caused Severus to grimace, though his mind was already deeply immersed in what had been his side project for the last decade, almost. Then Albus twinkled in that infuriating way of his. "On the other hand, this means you will not be penalized as much for Quirrell's presence."

"Of course not. He only threatened one student's life after all," Severus muttered under his breath.

"And," Albus interrupted loudly, "this means you are now allowed to hire werewolves. I already have a name in mind. He will do very well, I believe."

Severus groaned and gave in to the impulse to bang his head on his table.

\---

It had been over twenty years ago. But he could still taste the terror. 

Sirius Black had goaded him into visiting the Shrieking Shack. There, a very young and very foolish Severus Snape had almost died. The cause of almost-death: Werewolf Mauling. Not that the headmaster would have let the world find out.

He had been angry and sullen after being summoned to the Headmaster's Office. There would be no overt punishment for Black. As far as Hogwarts was concerned, It Never Happened. 

But then Albus Dumbledore had looked him in the eye and said in an uncharacteristically solemn voice, "I am sorry, my boy. It wasn't my intention to endanger anyone."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Then what did you intend by bringing that, that _beast_ here?"

Albus smiled wryly. "I wanted to change the world." He looked out the window. "But maybe it's not ready yet."

Severus fell silent for a moment, then timidly spoke. "I read there's some research being done in Europe for a potion to help werewolves control themselves during the change."

Albus sighed. "Not quickly enough, I'm afraid. And even so, the subject is so taboo here that no one is willing to sink some time and money into the research."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. 

"Unless," Albus added, meeting his gaze again.

"Unless what?" Severus asked suspiciously.

"Are you interested in an apprenticeship, Mr. Snape?" Albus Dumbledore asked before giving him a blinding smile.


	4. Ghosts and Other Regrets

Remus Lupin stumbled out into the unwelcoming gloom of 12 Grimmauld Place, trunk in the pocket of his grey traveling robe, which was wrinkled and shabby. A shadow unfolded from a corner and he met Sirius Black's eyes for the first time in fifteen years.

He cleared his throat to break the silence. "Thanks for your invitation, Sirius." It sounded more awkward spoken out loud than it did in his head.

Sirius nodded. "How have you been?" he asked quietly.

Remus' hands twitched with the impulse to cover his face, to hide. He had a lot more scars now, even with the Wolfsbane Potion to keep him sane on full moons; he knew he looked older and more worn out. "I'm doing well. More or less," he said, for lack of anything else to say. For a moment, he felt a sharp pain in his chest remembering how they all used to be: him and Sirius, Peter and James...

Sirius sighed and stepped forward to clasp his shoulder. The motion surprised him, the familiarity of the gesture, and the scent of the other man rose up to his nose. He still smelled like Pack. Even after everything.

"It's good to see you." There was a hoarse quality to Sirius' voice. "How long are you staying in the country?"

Remus tried a smile and was encouraged when Sirius smiled back. "Depends, really. Dumbledore said there's an open position at Hogwarts that I might go for." He flushed. "I won't impose on you too long."

Sirius shook his head. "You're no imposition. Merlin knows this place is big enough, even with my students roaming about. Come on, I'll show you to your rooms."

"Students?" Remus asked bemusedly. "Are you a professor now? You didn't write me about that." Although, to be fair, Sirius was a particularly terrible correspondent. His letters read like his Auror notes back when Remus could get Peter to steal it so they could laugh over its contents; statements full of holes and sort of disconnected. 

"Hasn't sunk in yet." They shared another smile at that. "And they're more of apprentices. It's Cissi's son Draco and Frank Longbottom's oldest. You remember Frank?"

"Yeah, I think so." Remus wracked his brain. "Neville, wasn't it?"

Sirius nodded. "They're good kids. Can be loud though, so put up some charms if it bothers you."

"Can't believe they're all grown up," Remus murmured. He remembered Frank would show off pictures of his kid to everyone who was too slow to get away. But there was another child that he hadn't seen in fifteen years. He wanted to ask, but bit his lip instead.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Sirius knew him well enough to follow his thread of thought. "Harry's doing well, too. I don't think I wrote you about what happened."

"He's well-known enough in the rest of Europe that it was in the papers," Remus said dryly, though he felt relieved at the news. "It was all speculation, though. A little light on the facts."

"Get your things settled first. I'll have some refreshments brought to the parlour." 

The room Sirius had brought him to looked new. The wall hangings were in vivid colours, and the bed and desk were in light wood. It had a very different feel from the rest of the house. Remus had never been there before, of course. Fifteen years ago, Sirius' mother was still alive, and she would never have allowed Sirius any unsanctioned visitors, and certainly not werewolves. 

He wondered how Sirius had felt, moving back here after being made unwelcome all his life. Sometimes, Remus was glad to have been orphaned young.

He pulled his trunk out of his pocket and cancelled the charm that kept it small and light. He didn't bother taking out too many things, just a couple of robes and the book he was currently reading. And at the bottom of his trunk he pulled out a box. It contained his present to his host. 

He had almost bought something for Harry, too, but that was mere wishful thinking. What could he buy a full-grown if young wizard who probably doesn't even remember his Uncle Moony? Someone who seemed to have been victimized by a vampire not too long ago, who doesn't even know how close he came to be raised by a werewolf instead?

Back then, he had been completely clueless about babies. After Lily died, it was Peter of all people who took up their slack. James had been spending most of his days inebriated, with Sirius at his side. Remus was too busy trying to deal with the loss of his own support system, and trying his best to find work that lasted past the next full moon. Peter had had younger siblings and between him and the Potter house elves, they managed to keep newborn Harry fed and changed. 

And then James had turned his wand on himself, and the house elves begged for death for their failure to stop it from happening so he freed them instead and that was punishment enough, and then Peter stopped coming, distancing himself from the scandal to protect his own fledgling career at the Ministry, and Remus had to look after Sirius, who always turned his frustrations outward and had to be hauled in to see his boss about his over-enthusiastic collars. And the baby was just too much noise and too much need. 

It was a bit of a relief when Sirius decided to hand over young Harry to his mother's relatives. But then the unspoken grief hung over the two of them in their shared flat, and when Albus Dumbledore had offered Remus an opportunity to leave for Europe, to make contacts with other werewolf packs, he took it. Sirius had encouraged him to go, and they wrote to each other, but it was different between them. 

To be back after all this time was to come face to face with his ghosts. 

\---

It was a last minute application, written on parchment in a beautiful hand. Severus perused the information almost perfunctorily. He knew this name, and he had already said yes in the back of his head.

 _Four Houses and One Dream_ was already being hailed as a classic before he had even started at Hogwarts. It had revitalized education, some people said. It made history alive in a way that Professor Binns had never managed in his classes. It added to the rivalries of the houses, too, and had increased interest in all things that related to the founders. He knew personally, that Albus Dumbledore started his little werewolf experiment after reading the book, though it didn't quite work out to his satisfaction. And it was so popular that the whole publishing industry was still feeling the aftereffects, creating something of a boom in wizarding literature in general. 

_Oblivion_ followed much later. It was a smaller book, composed of two novellas, called "The Memory Thief" and "The Lost Children." It hadn't caused as much waves, though the former did kill off the professional career of one Gilderoy Lockhart, and the latter was much discussed behind closed, pureblood doors. The change in attitudes weren't instantaneous; young Applesnare was a recent example. But stories like that lived longer in memory than whatever cause the papers were dredging up this week, or whatever gossip were making their rounds at the Ministry or at Hogwarts.

Then there was _The Boy and His Basilisk._ That one had been a little bit of a disaster. Severus grimaced a little when he remembered the year so many students had tried their hand at hatching their own little monsters. He was still apprenticed to Dumbledore then, but it had already fallen to him to scare the perpetrators into never trying it again. They had been mostly Slytherins and Gryffindors. 

Whatever else he was, Professor Marvolo was a change-maker. And he would be an excellent addition to the Hogwarts staff, while he purportedly did research for his next novel. 

"Take that, Umbridge," he muttered with relish and he penned his reply. That woman had written him again this morning, and the scented parchment of her missive had given him a headache. 

Now he only had to interview Lupin. He sighed, massaging his temples, and mentally tallying the amount of wolfsbane he had in his personal potion stores. 

\---

The thing was, she had spent so much time and energy trying to be the top student at Hogwarts, with the most number of classes, and the most number of O's, that Hermione Granger had forgotten to think of what happens after. 

Her panic at graduation was just gaining traction when she found out she was a few weeks pregnant. It was too much. She might have had a breakdown if it weren't for Molly. Ron's mum had swept in, issuing orders left and right, and for a while, it was just _easier_ to obey. 

But she was an adult, and she didn't need anyone to hold her hand. (Not even Ron. Maybe.) She had some decisions to make. 

For right now, though, she was watching telly, her feet up on Violet's little sofa, bundled under a soft blanket from Primark. She let the half-familiar faces and voices wash over her and soothe her. Who knew soaps were so addictive?

\---

Daniel snuck home through the front door. It was just before dawn, though the horizon had already lightened a little, making it easy to navigate the hallway.

Fred was sitting in the dining room, holding a cup of tea in his hands and staring down into it as if it was a scrying mirror. He looked up when Daniel stumbled past, noting the guitar case on his back, the dishevelled hair, the wrinkled shirt. From unfortunate experience, he knew Daniel would lean the guitar case against a wall and stumble onto the bed, not noticing, or maybe not caring, that only one twin was in it. He would drop to sleep for about ten hours and then spend the rest of the day not looking them in the eye.

He was known as the twin with poor impulse control. Even George chided him some days. He took equal credit for some of Fred's fuck-ups, of course, because he had his back. But he would sigh and roll his eyes when they were alone. 

Right now, though, Fred had all sorts of impulses and ideas. Terrible ones, maybe. Even homicidal ones. But he finished his tea and went down to the basement to work on the zing potion that had to be finished and on the shelves in a month's time if he followed George's bloody schedule. 

He felt really, really cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Primark sells anything other than clothes. Soz. This short chapter is dedicated to Alan Rickman. (I watched some Snape fanvids and cried.)


	5. The Heart of the Mountain

"We're going on a field trip today," Arugba told Harry over breakfast.

Harry felt a spark of excitement. He had had enough of books lately. "Do I need to bring anything? Where are we headed?" 

"No tools for now," his master said. "You have been meeting with the apparition tutor?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Once a week. I'm still behind but Mr. Kipple said I could have my first go at it next week." He had neglected it by focusing on his N.E.W.T.s first and was playing catch-up now.

"Today I will take you with me. But you need to make the motions as if you were apparating. It will decrease the risks of splinching. I will not tell you where because that might interfere with our movement."

Harry hurriedly stacked the dishes and spelled them clean, then clasped the open hand Master Arugba held to him. Going from theory to practice was always a tricky thing. He had read all the relevant literature on apparition and had done the preliminary exercises, but his lessons hadn't reached that point yet.

It was like folding oneself, though the process felt more organic. It felt like it took forever and was over in an instant simultaneously, like breaking the dimension of space also affected that of time. Harry opened his eyes to see a breath-taking vista. They were standing on top of a cliff, looking down on a raging ocean. Behind them was a dense forest and on the horizon was a mountain-range looming like giants. 

Arugba watched his apprentice gawk with a little smile that hid his mixed feelings about being here. 

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"We call it Otxar," Arugba answered, voice soft. "It is an old place, now abandoned, though some of us return on certain days of the year to honour it." 

Harry frowned. The name was familiar but he couldn't remember from where. Maybe one of the places Binns had droned on and on about during History class. "Is it alright that I'm here?" He asked hesitantly.

Master Arugba had not really spoken of his people, though some things slip past whenever they discussed stone workings. Harry did not trust his own lessons from Binns, who had loved talking about dates and places, naming the elaborate names of goblin generals, and their wizard counterparts, but causes and real-life effects seemed like taboo topics in his classroom. 

In spite of his ignorance, Harry knew this must be an important place to his master in particular, as well as the goblins in general.

Arugba nodded solemnly. "It is one of the few places that apprentices can be taken to. That you are human is of no consequence." He smiled a little more at Harry's skeptical expression. "To take a student is to hold someone's life. Nobody will interfere while you require guidance and training."

"What happens afterwards?" Harry asked.

"Then you will have to answer to the Guild. Do not worry overmuch, Harry. There are Laws of the Stone and Laws of the Guild, but you will be able to make your own path. Of that, I have no doubt."

"So what did we come to do in this place?" Harry knelt and felt the ground with his hands. The stone was hard and yet he felt its hollowness. "There's a tunnel of some sort, isn't there?"

Arugba looked pleased at his discovery. "You will map the tunnels. Without moving from this spot."

Harry bit his lip at that. He had had some practice sensing stone, but buildings and tunnels were a little out of his experience. "Is it anything like the Gringotts? Will I have to map it in three dimensions?"

Arugba merely crossed his arms and waited.

Harry shrugged, then changed to a sitting position, ignoring the dirt. The ocean down below helped his focus. The rhythm of each wave blended with his breathing. He felt himself sink down into the stone.

\---

Otxar felt like an anthill. That was Harry's first impression. The cliff was made of sandstone. He had advanced enough in his studies to know that, though the grey colour was very different from the illustrations in his muggle textbook. "Greywacke," he heard Master Arugba murmur as if from a long distance away. The term was vaguely familiar to him, but he ignored it for now, focusing on the quality of the stone. Passing through it felt very different from any other stone working he had done. Like he was being sieved through a fine mesh, cleaned and yet simplified too. Then he found the hollows within the rock.

They felt partly natural and partly made, though the magic that had shaped them felt as ancient as the rock itself. How old was goblin magic? For that matter, how old was human magic as well? The holes and gaps in his Hogwarts education were clearer now with hindsight.

He allowed the questions to float away as he followed the emptiness down. It was a tangle of shafts and levels. It made him dizzy, going this way and then swooping back, but he felt Master Arugba's hand on his body's shoulder and it steadied him somewhat. And that was when the pattern emerged. Harry gasped, though he barely heard himself. The whole cliff was a three-dimensional labyrinth, with pathways circling and branching off into dead ends to lead one back to the centre. And what a centre it was. Right in the middle of the cliff was a beacon that felt like pure magic. 

It felt like a wand's core living at the heart of the mountain. Harry swam in that ocean of magic, and for a moment, he felt invincible, but then the magic swamped over him and he lost his handholds, and he was drowning somehow--until Master Arugba's hand squeezed his shoulder hard and the pain felt like a line. His master was like an anchor slowly and steadily reeling him in. He began to breathe again.

When Harry opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times until the dark spots disappeared. 

"How are you feeling?" His master asked gently. "I apologize. I should have warned you; I suppose wizards react differently to the Heart than goblins do."

"The Heart?" Harry mumbled. He tried to stand but his master shook his head, and Harry sank back down on the ground. "Is that what it's called?"

"An inadequate name, I know," Master Arugba said. "In our tongue, we have a different name for it, but it is difficult to translate. What did it feel like to you?"

"Like bottled lightning."

Arugba nodded. "Stone magic can be an arduous task, depending on the scale. When the goblins begin a large working, they turn to the Heart as a stabilizing force."

Harry frowned. "Do they have to be near it to use its power?"

Arugba shook his head. "The Heart in the Hollow is something that connects every goblin in this land. Once they have felt it, they can always find it, no matter where they are."

Harry still didn't understand it all. "Why was Otxar abandoned, if the Heart is so important?"

Arugba's smile turned sly. "It was abandoned to _hide_ its importance. But it is safe from human tampering, since the magic to access it is very different from the kind most wizards use. It is... alive in a sense. It protects itself."

"What about _my_ tampering?" Harry asked. "All the things you've been teaching me is basically goblin magic, right? You call it stone magic, but it isn't just that."

The pride in his master's eyes made Harry turn away in embarrassment. "Do you feel that, Harry?" Master Arugba asked. "The tremors of change. You are one rock thrown into the stillness."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what you're asking of me."

"Just live with the question awhile, Harry. Just as you are who you are, you will do what you will. I am no seer to see what is to come. I am merely someone who waits." Arugba's voice held an undercurrent of sadness, and Harry fell silent. He was steady enough that he stood up without help. Even without reaching for it, he felt the Heart pulse under his feet.

"What's next?" He asked, shaking himself loose from the gravity of his own thoughts.

Arugba gestured and a piece of the ground sank into the earth, and Harry could see the worn steps descending down the hole and into darkness. "You must walk the labyrinth. It adds strength to the Heart, and makes you known to it, so that you may call upon it in need."

Harry swallowed down all the questions he wanted to ask. He could feel the call in his bones, and the only answer he could give was, "I am ready."

\---

Letters were poor substitutes, Severus had found. Still, it always gave him a thrill when Harry's favourite of the school owls, Pegasus, swooped through the open window in his rooms to deliver a missive he can read over breakfast. Pegasus was a smallish brown owl, otherwise ordinary, though he had a tendency to croak rather than hoot. Severus suspected a prank gone bad, or maybe a transfiguration accident, but the owl didn't seem to mind it.

Given the nature of Harry's studies, he had expected to receive trinkets such as Master Arugba crafted, but surprisingly, that had not been the case. Instead, Harry gifted him with long, rambling letters full of interesting things he had learned that week, maybe some doodles in the margins. No stones. 

_Master says I'm not ready yet, which I don't understand, but I know enough to trust his word. I feel it sometimes, the itch to make, or remake, or even to destroy. And then I scare myself. Why is this magic so different from the kind we learn at school? There are probably a million spells out there that could be used to kill. But when I use the stone magic, I don't use a wand and it feels like every atom of my being is involved._

_That reminds me of the reading I did a couple of weeks ago about atoms and molecules and the elements. Master says the muggle knowledge of chemistry makes for better potion innovations. You told me you studied at a muggle university, but I didn't really get any details. Did you take chemistry? How did you squeeze it into teaching at Hogwarts, and then becoming Headmaster? Have I been shacking up with a complete genius without knowing it?_

_Missing you, Harry._

That had been last week's letter, and Severus had written back with more details about taking a long-distance class in yes, chemistry, as well as general physics, biology and a business math course that had made handling Hogwarts Expenses so much easier. 

Instead of a reply to his own questions, however, Pegasus dropped on his table a small package wrapped in red velvet. Heartbeat loud in his ears, Severus unwrapped it and opened a small wooden box with a hinged lid. On a bed of velvet as scarlet as the wrapping, lay a pendant. It was in grey stone, unprepossessing but somehow familiar. A circle, etched almost crudely with lines criss-crossing. "A labyrinth," Severus realized, smoothing a thumb over the design. 

The moment he touched the stone, he felt it. A strange warmth that made him gasp soundlessly. Warily, he reached for it again, and that's when he recognized the material. It was the same kind as the stones that were laid as the foundation of the school, centuries and centuries ago. He had spent a lot of time in the dungeons, and was well-acquainted with the remnants of the original stones.

His mind filled up with questions, but he consciously pushed them back as he picked up the pendant, only then noticing the thin silver chain that came with it. He fastened it around his neck, wishing for a moment that Harry was there to do it for him. 

As soon as the stone settled against his collarbone, he felt something click, like a key turning in a lock, and then around him he sensed Hogwarts for a brief second. The school had been around for ages, founded on magic, containing it, nurturing and being nurtured by it. Hogwarts was alive the way an ocean was alive, and for that moment, Severus connected with the immensity of It, and was awed and humbled. The feeling disappeared, and the stone acquiesced to its customary slumber, like a hibernating giant turning over in its sleep. 

The school was empty yet, so nobody saw Severus Snape smile, soft and proud.

Nobody but the portraits. 

Half-way across the world, Albus Dumbledore wiped at the tears that threatened to soak his long, white beard. "Ah love," he murmured. "Such beautiful magic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for eagle-eyed readers who caught my cringe-worthy mistakes. Haha. Can you tell, I don't have a beta reader? Btw, I am also on tumblr: dreamingmappist.tumblr.com if you're interested. I don't post fics there but You can come talk to me anytime.


	6. Yin and Yang

Harry wasn't sure what he had been thinking, crafting that pendant and then sending it to Severus without even a note to explain it. His encounter with the Heart had left in his bones a restlessness that Master Arugba seemed to recognize. 

"Choose a stone," he instructed Harry, after apparating with him to a rock-strewn field. After the cliff, which had been between the sea and the forest, the place felt barren. And yet to a stone smith, not quite. There were rocks in various colours and striations, igneous and sedimentary, even semi-precious stones, though mostly rough and unpolished. Harry tried to orient himself--apparating had messed up with his sense of direction. He felt the mountain at his back, and somewhat distantly the sleeping fire at its base. Then he blinked and shook his head, trying to contain his focus down into the ground.

"For what purpose?" He asked, almost automatically. Master Arugba had drilled into him that stone magic could not be approached without a purpose. One reason why Harry had not been allowed to work with stone as much as before was because once the threat of Quirrell and vampirism was over, Harry's focus had suffered. He had lost his sense of purpose, so to speak.

"Remember the Heart. And follow where it leads you," Arugba directed, watching over his student from a few meters away. He watched Harry's expression furrow in deep thought before the memory of the Heart wiped away the doubt and uncertainty. The Heart wasn't sentient in the sense that it gave directions, but it offered clarity to an open mind. He would have to come back again without his student in tow. He needed that clarity these days.

Harry picked up a grey stone, seemingly innocuous especially compared to the flash of semi-precious stones, or the metals, or the hidden fire and the layered depths of the igneous and sedimentary rocks. But Master Arugba nodded at him. "You already know what the purpose is."

Harry wanted to deny his master's words. It was a whim, really, that made him choose this one among the rest. But it called to him somehow. It felt like home. And that made him smile and say a name. "Severus." His master was right after all.

\---

The whole of Diagon Alley was starting to have a festive air. It began with the book-signing at Flourish and Blott, designated for a weekend at the end of he following month, that somehow grew into a Thing. 

Neither Fred nor George were big readers, unless it was a rare potions book or something short and funny and full of pictures--muggle comics had been a fun discovery. Still, when George had heard about the new Marvolo book and the signing, he picked up a copy that was literally hot off the press. Marvolo's last work, _The Boy and His Basilisk_ had been a life-changing book for him. 

He finished _I am Lord Voldemort_ in one sitting, and had gone on to contact Mr. Marvolo himself in one huge outpouring of shameless fannish glee. Then he had spent a week in feverish invention only to come out with a huge sack of _I am Lord Voldemort_ goodies, from stick-on Death Eater tattoos, Order of the Phoenix pins that flickered like a candle flame when tapped with a wand, and small vials of supposed "basilisk venom" that the Lord Voldemort character had used to poison the spy among his ranks. It was actually ooze flavoured with lime and a bit of pepper. WWWs would participate in the signing and give discounts on the goodie bags if they showed up with a Marvolo book. Fortescue had caught wind of it, and unveiled a venom-flavoured ice cream. And the rest of the stores on Diagon had followed suit. 

Fred just watched his brother get busier and busier, watched Daniel disappear more and more, and sulked. He would have continued indefinitely--he was champion sulker in the Weasley household, even more so than Ginny or poor, ickle Ron--but for Luna, who had come one afternoon without warning. 

"I'm here for your interview. You're Fred, right? I think you are, though I know you and your brother switch bodies sometimes to confuse people." He knew Luna; no amount of sulking would dissuade her. So he set his sulking aside, and showed her to the chair with as much grace as he could summon.

"Ask away," he said. "I have some sulking to get back to."

Luna raised her eyebrows but disappointingly didn't follow up on that little tidbit. "Do you consider yourself Yin or Yang?"

Fred raised an eyebrow, but answered, "Yang. Definitely Yang."

Luna leaned forward. "But there are three people in the circle. How do you balance each other? What role do you think each part plays in the whole?" 

Fred was used to people ignoring his unusual relationship. (His family, especially his mother.) Or else they would become hostile. Or overly curious in the prurient details. (Old schoolmates, both friends and rivals; random passers-by; Daniel's fans.) Harry had been the closest to accepting them. He'd shrug and say if it works, it works. Too practical, that one. And maybe a little too shy to ask questions outright. 

In any case, the question took Fred aback, and he had to think about the answer for a bit. _If it works, it works, but what happens when it's not working?_ Almost reluctantly, he spoke his thoughts out loud. "George and I have had a lifetime to smooth out each other's rough edges, so to speak. And we're business partners to boot. Some days, even I felt that we were the same person, like I didn't know where I ended and he began. Then I met Daniel, and that was the first time I wanted to be completely selfish. It just so happened that George was interested too."

He hesitated, but a spark of understanding in Luna's eyes encouraged him to continue. "If George is Yin and I'm Yang, Daniel is sort of the line that separates the two, and the circle that encompasses us both. He could have come between us. But he completed us instead." He gestured helplessly, as if he had run out of words. His mind shied away from the suspicion that Daniel might no longer be content with that role in their lives.

Luna jotted down a phrase for a second, before looking up again and catching Fred's eyes. "What is the most satisfying thing about the work at WWWs?"

Fred almost sighed in relief. "When an idea comes to fruition. I have a lot of ideas, usually, but for every good one, there are about fifty terrible ones. I also love it when I see them get used by other people. That's why I try to sneak into Hogwarts once in a while. Snape tolerates it in the spirit of invention, calls it my 'follow-up case-studies.' Except that he throws me out when I'm being a little too helpful."

\---

Ron Weasley played chess really well. It was easy, sometimes, to see all the ways it could go when he looked at a board. He knew his pieces (and they knew him) and knew what they could do. Real life was something else, though. Too many factors. Too many unpredictable people. Harry was one. (And boy, did he mess up that relationship!) But he didn't think Hermione would be another.

When the two of them fell in love, it wasn't all of a sudden. It was like a chess game: dozens of moves and counter-moves, dozens of instances of fighting and making up. He thought she was a know-it-all (Which was true.) and she thought he was lazy. (Even more true.) But she had a strong fighting spirit. And when he had found out that she was being bullied, he couldn't do anything else but defend her. (Not that she needed his help.) 

She had the tidiest mind he knew. He always found it odd that she was such a horrible chess player. But he thought he could tell what moves she would make. (The Right move. The Smart move. Follow the rules. Do your best. Give a hundred and ten percent.)

But maybe he should have guessed this would happen. Hermione did _not_ deal well with surprises. 

He heard from George where she was staying, and for the first time in days, breathed a sigh of relief. He knew Violet only in passing, but she was a good sort. And at least Hermione wasn't alone. She found it hard to accept help, and never had much friends outside of their circle. 

He thought about writing her a letter, but that wouldn't solve anything. Both their futures were in the air, and the baby's, too. Everything depended on his next move. He needed to find another way to cross the board. A way that would impress Hermione. 

Ron began to grin. At the very least, he reckoned he could get a laugh out of her. He grabbed a quill and started writing a very detailed and very complicated list.

\---

Remus paced around the sitting room in a sort of daze. Even though he would trust Albus Dumbledore with his life, he didn't actually think it would happen. Him, a professor? And at Defence! He had fantasized about it while at school. Now that it had happened, he still couldn't believe it. He flexed his back as he walked, feeling like he was too big for his skin.

It was a little bit like turning into a wolf. He checked his moon-watch reflexively. Full moon was a good two weeks away. He shouldn't be feeling like this. 

The old Sirius would have bellowed at him to "Calm down, Moony! You're making me dizzy!" He could practically hear the words being spoken. But _this_ Sirius was sitting in a red velvet armchair, smoking some kind of elaborate pipe, just watching. 

Remus jarred to a stop. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Sirius smiled, and there was a hint of mischief in the tilt of his head and curve of his lips. "Yes, I'm laughing at you."

"Easy for you to say. You just did what you wanted straight after graduation. I've practically given up on teaching. To finally reach it now is just," Remus said, gesturing wildly. "Surreal."

"I will laugh even harder when you realize that the dream doesn't always match reality," Sirius told him with a touch of condescension. 

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked.

Sirius shifted in his seat, a strange expression crossing his face. "I didn't tell anyone, but I almost quit right after I became an Auror. It was the first time something felt too hard. I managed to stick it through for over a decade, but I think it was mostly to prove to myself that I could." 

Remus raised both eyebrows. "So that's why you're a gentleman of leisure right now?"

Sirius grimaced. "It's practically family tradition." The Blacks had lived off their various investments, and at least one Black had made most of his fortune through gambling. The money meant nothing now.

Maybe it had been important once, back when the whole fortune was in grave danger of going to Cousin Bellatrix, after he and Regulus had disappointed their mother for the last time. (Regulus later emigrated to America, the lucky berk.) He had lived on crappy food and kipped on James Potter's couch after graduating. When he had survived training and got a permanent spot at the LME, he had blown his first paycheque to treat his long-suffering friends to a night out. Later, he had gotten his own place, a shoebox flat that had exponentially increased his chances of pulling at the various muggle bars whose dark interiors he had had plenty of time to memorize. 

It was strange to reminisce about that period of his life, when he had spent a great amount of time and effort--and several bottles' worth of his poison of choice from the Black wine cellar--on repressing it all. Only a year ago, Sirius Black woke up in the morning feeling like he had been born old. Like the whole of his childhood and his twenties were just a drop in the Pensieve. But ever since Snape of all people had dragged Harry Potter back into his life, the past had been cropping up again, like an old relative come begging for hand-outs every Solstice.

He smiled at his friend. "Just don't fire-call me your first weekend in panic, because the little monsters are out to get you." Remus paled at that, so he smiled as reassuringly as he could. "You'll do fine. Growl them into submission, Moony."

Remus stuck out his tongue at him, which startled him into a laugh. He was a bit rusty at it. But it felt like something he could get used to again.

\---

_Voldemort captured the man's gaze. It was easy to delve behind them into his thoughts, for a mere muggle had no protections against a Legilimens of his strength. He tasted the man's confusion as it turned to fear. And smiled._

_"Hello, father."_

Severus Snape turned the next page, utterly absorbed. He had picked up a copy of Tom Marvolo's latest novel on a whim, and decided to read a little the night before he met the man in person. He did not hear the clock chime at midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again readers and commenters for staying with me so far.


	7. The Dinner Party

Last night's dream left Harry bewildered. He had vague visions of talking stones and swimming through the air that had thickened full of unspoken questions. So over breakfast, he blurted out a question that had been bothering him for a long time.

"You are not like the others, aren't you?" Harry knew he was being rude, but he couldn't take the words back. 

Master Arugba said nothing for a long time, and sipped his tea until his cup was empty. Harry had already resigned himself to getting nothing but silence, when he finally spoke. "My mother was an ordinary goblin. My father was a house-elf, one of the Freed Ones."

Harry frowned at that. He had never heard of the term. he had met a few house-elves at Hogwarts, when the twins had introduced him to the kitchens. He had found them a little disturbing in their zeal to feed whoever came through the door. And it always felt odd to get his clothes back clean and perfectly pressed without knowing who to thank. He was used to looking after himself, and the elves' insistence on invisibility bordered on paranoia. 

"I didn't even know," he murmured.

"Know what?" 

"That they weren't free," he admitted, face colouring in shame. "They looked very happy to serve."

Arugba sighed. "It was the worst spell cast by wizards in all of history. But nobody speaks of it."

"It was never taught in our history classes," Harry thought out loud. 

Master Arugba made a rude gesture and then turned a little red, and Harry had to stifle an undignified giggle. "Wizarding history is almost pure invention," he grumbled. "Fairy stories and centaur moon-talk hold more truth than the books of so-called historians. If you really want an unbiased opinion, however, you will be served more by going to the Hidden Libraries in Paris and Rome. Although you might not even be allowed access, come to think of it." At Harry's questioning look, he elaborated, "There had been British wizards before who had tried to destroy old accounts in the name of censorship."

"That's horrible," Harry said. "So everyone knows about it but they don't do anything to stop it?"

Arugba sighed. "Do you really want to know? Some things cannot be unlearned."

It sounded like a warning, and an ominous one at that, but Harry nodded anyway.

"Very well. It's a heavy topic for breakfast, but we will manage." Master Arugba poured himself another cup of tea. When he spoke again, his voice had deepened, and the cadences of the words grew longer like he was singing. "We were two great peoples once, we of the House and of the Hollow. We enjoyed great peace and prosperity. We had flourishing trade with other magical creatures, but otherwise we were content to remain amongst ourselves, and content to be more or less invisible. 

"But the wizards were different. They lived in the open, side by side with the mundane, until the rising jealousies threatened to break into all-out war. So they started building hiding places and exploring territories further and deeper into the wild. And in doing so they found us. The House they encountered first, and found them affable and trusting. But the Hollow had always been high of temper and hard-headed as rock. There was war, though both sides took care to keep the fighting from spilling over to the rest of the world. Finally, to break us, they turned our allies against us. All of the House, from the oldest to the merest babe had been enslaved by wizards' might. Fighting still continued long after, but we knew we were done. The treaties were hammered out. And we begged for the release of those enslaved, but the spell had taken too tight a hold on them, and they could be Freed by their masters, but most turned to death soon after, and so things remain as they were, hardened by time into tradition."

Master Arugba bowed at this. Harry took a deep breath, trying to free the lump in his throat. Before he could speak, however, Master Arugba took up the thread again.

"But in the last half-century, we of the Hollow were able to save some Freed Ones. Treatments both magical and mundane have been tried, with varying degrees of success. They are given homes and even meaningful work, but they often lead short, pitiful lives. My father was one such; he died soon after I was born."

"How could you take me on as apprentice, when I am a wizard?" Harry asked, voice breaking. "How can you not look at us and hate us?" 

Master Arugba bowed down and sighed. "Hatred is just another chain to bind us. I grew up not really belonging anywhere, not outright shunned, but not welcomed either. If I had chosen to feed my hatred, it would have grown into a sharp weapon, but the kind that hurts its wielder as deeply as whoever it was pointed at."

Harry chewed on his lip, nodding. He remembered how close he had come to killing Sirius Black the year before, when the hatred in his heart had called forth the beast within him.

"Is there something I can do?" He asked almost on a whim. "Maybe I can get more wizards to free their elves."

But Master Arugba shook his head and said gently, "If you want to help, Harry, look to your own house first."

Harry frowned. _What did he mean by that?_

\---

The invitation came by owl. The paper was thick, the colour of butter cream, with a smooth finish, though the writing was almost careless, in dark blue ink. It extended an invitation to one Harry Potter to dine at the home of Mr. Sirius Black a week later. 

Harry made a face even as he sent back an affirmative. He would never be best friends with the other man, but he did keep up with the sword-fighting lessons, if only for the chance to see Neville and Draco. And somehow they've come to a truce of sorts that survived only as long as they carefully skirted certain topics. 

One of those topics was a certain prank that Mr. Black had perpetrated against Severus over twenty years ago. Neither of them had given him much details, and he had had to fill them in by supposition. But Severus had assured him that the man had apologized to him, if a little too late, and that it shouldn't impact whatever relationship he was building with the other man. 

He had spent so long thinking the worst of the man; finding out about the prank just added fuel to the fire. But he was old enough to re-examine his own assumptions. He wasn't sure he would have been better off under Black's care rather than having grown up with the Dursleys. Either way, he was who he was now. And both he and Black had made a choice to _try._

He attended sword fighting lessons every fortnight at the same place as before, though Black had dispensed with his disguise, and Harry spent more time on practice bouts with his former schoolmates. It wasn't often enough to really master the art, but it was the only time he could spare, between working towards his apparating license, touching base with Severus or the twins, and focusing on his studies under Master Arugba. He practiced some of the footwork and arm motions on his own, and made sure to keep in good enough form to make either Draco or Neville work for their inevitable victory. 

He took the Knight Bus, because it would be his first time at Black Manor and Floo was a bit presumptuous if you weren't accompanied by your host . He did not come empty-handed; in a little hand-made basket was a package of chocolate marzipan, from a chocolatier near the workshop. They were supposed to be a gift for his host, but the choice was for Draco, who was addicted to the bloody things. 

Draco met him at the door, looking carelessly elegant in soft grey dress robes, his blond hair curling at the edges. His eyes lit up at the basket in Harry's hand. "You're such an enabler," he hissed under his breath. 

Harry laughed and handed it over. "What's the occasion, anyway? And where's Nev?"

"Longbottom's serving the drinks in the parlour. Occasion's the word for it," Draco muttered, shaking his head even as he took Harry's coat from him. "He's been _entertaining_."

Before Harry could question him further, the door to the front parlour opened and Draco pushed him through. Just inside, he met the amber eyes of a man standing awkwardly in front of a table of appetizers. 

Harry stepped back, spine stiff as rock, nerves tingling, hand unconsciously inching towards the wand in his sleeve.

The man smiled softly. His gaze was mild, his clothes well-pressed but a little shabby, and that reassured Harry somewhat, so he deliberately unclenched his fists. 

"You must be Harry. Sorry to introduce myself so, but our host had to check over something in the kitchen. I'm Remus Lupin." He held out a hand, and Harry took it gingerly. He felt like he was at a zoo, petting a tiger. 

He eyed Draco who looked just as bored as Neville. The other boy smiled at Harry and offered him a glass of sparkling wine, which he accepted automatically. _Do they all know? Or are they blind to the fact that there is a beast in front of them?_

When he felt a hand clamp on his shoulder, he almost shrieked. 

"I see you met Mr. Potter," Black drawled out. "Lupin and I were at school together." _With your father,_ he left unspoken. "He's Quirrell's replacement for Defence." 

Harry tried his hardest not to broadcast his reaction to that name. "Congratulations," he murmured noncommittally. 

"Shall we take this to the dining room?" Sirius Black offered. "I'm eighty percent sure Kreacher hasn't added poison to the fish."

Harry wasn't going to ask, but Draco enlightened him anyway. "Kreacher's the house-elf. He's a bit barmy."

Harry's lips thinned. Master Arugba's words still haunted him. _Look to your own house._

"That reminds me," he said as soon as they had taken their seats around the formal dining table. "I was going to ask about the family elves. Did the other Potters take them in?"

It wasn't a topic they had talked about before. Sirius almost spilled his soup. "Are you making formal inquiries?" His tone was disinterested, almost cold. "I will inform my solicitor if so."

Remus frowned at his friend. "It's not exactly dinner fare," he explained to the young man. "But if you really want to know, I freed them. They were very distraught you see, and--"

"That's not possible," Harry interrupted. He knew he was being rude, but couldn't find it in him to care. "Since you are not a Potter."

Remus settled back in his chair, meeting Harry's stare across the table. Neville was concentrating very deeply on his meal, while Draco was unabashedly staring. "At that time I was your de-facto guardian. And they were sworn to your father, and through him to you. Other branches of the family could have claimed them, but I don't think they did so." The taboo was too strong, again unspoken.

"Wrong again," Harry murmured. "I'm pretty sure werewolves were not allowed to become guardians of young wizards. But maybe that law will be changed soon." 

Neville dropped his spoon and it sounded very loud in the suddenly-silent room.

"Well, the wolf's out of the bag, eh, Moony," Sirius said with a fake laugh. "Didn't think he'd pick up on it so quickly."

"How?" Remus asked, voice a little hoarse.

"My studies have affected my sensitivity to certain magic," Harry answered, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't care, anyway. I just want the answer to my question. Where are the elves of my house?"

It was Kreacher that answered him. The last elf of the House of Black had sneaked up to the table, and showed himself to his master's guests with a pop. He watched them jump with malicious pleasure, before announcing. "Why they are in limbo, young Mr. Potter. Not quite bound and not quite freed. Useless. Unwanted. Poor, poor creatures. We call it Purgatory. Your master could direct you there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's really snotty here. I guess being in the presence of a certain Mister Black puts him on the defensive. Anyway, there's not much of Draco and Neville in this whole fic. Soz. This is about all they get. 
> 
> This is where so-called Plot comes in... Unfortunately.


	8. The Reading

It was a sunny day, with nary a cloud in the sky. The kind of day you'd leave your brolly at home in perfect confidence. A rare day in London indeed.

It was also a perfect day to go on a date with Severus. Unfortunately, it was also the day of the book signing that both Severus and George wanted to attend, so Harry, Daniel and Fred all got roped into going.

Harry pages through Severus' copy as they walked through the crowds of Diagon Alley. Truth be told, the book looks interesting, as it seemed to be about a boy who grew up as an orphan full of resentment hatching a mad plan to get revenge. It's something he can relate to, himself. 

But he was too busy these days to spend much time on fiction. He looks up at the eager gleam in Sev's eye, and feels tired all of a sudden. Surely he was too young to feel so burned out? 

These past few days, his master had been pushing him. He worked on stone from dawn til dusk, on little sleep and spare rations. Master Arugba gave no explanations; just orders. It was such a swift about-face that Harry was tempted to connect it to his master's revelations about his past. But that wasn't his way. Harry just had to trust that whatever he was doing had a purpose.

Trust was a new thing to him. All his life, Harry had had no reason to trust adults. He learned to look after himself. When Quirrell violated the little trust he had left, he'd have given up on the idea altogether. But then he met Master Arugba, who had patiently taught him without asking for anything in return. His trust was earned, he knew. 

Severus, too, had been there for him, and Harry had handed him his much-battered heart for healing. 

Harry grabbed Severus' hand and squeezed it. He ached for a moment alone with him, to be anywhere but where they were. The number of people felt like a constant low-level threat; it was rough on the nerves.

Somehow, though, they managed to elbow their way inside the magically enlarged Flourish and Blott. Mr. Marvolo was standing at a podium, just beginning his reading. At the sound of his voice, Severus stopped short, transfixed. Harry bumped into his back, and rubbed his nose with a grimace. 

He slipped to Sev's side, listening while the writer's sonorous voice flowed over the room like golden honey. The man himself was a knockout: artfully arranged black hair with the faintest of grey at the temples to make him look distinguished, piercing dark eyes, lips that gave the impression of an amused smirk even while their owner is speaking. He was a powerful orator, one that was used to holding crowds spell-bound with his words. 

When he finished the first part, Severus was one of the first to initiate the applause. Harry looks up at him automatically. There was something in his expression, something bordering on awe. He's acting very much like a fan, a school boy with a crush on a professor. 

Even though Harry knew how hypocritical he was being, he couldn't help the surge of jealousy and frustration. Here they were, spending time together after months apart, and Severus couldn't even be bothered to focus on _him_. 

Heart pounding a little faster, he felt his senses spike, and under his feet the foundations were vibrating. Not too much, not enough for anyone else to notice. Anyone who was not a stone smith anyway. 

Marvolo turned a page in a different book, and started to read once more. Everybody was hanging onto his every word. Suddenly afraid he would cause an earthquake, Harry hastily excused himself, and fled the room. He ran through the crowd along Diagon, following instinct rather than rational thought, until he could no longer feel stone under his feet.

He found himself in Mantou Alley. He settled down on an open patch of grass and tried to catch his breath. Master Arugba warned him that this could happen, but Harry, in his foolishness, had thought that it was an exaggeration. He hadn't realized how much his emotional equilibrium was directly tied to his control. 

He closed his eyes and lay down on the grass. Early in his apprenticeship, his master had taught him some meditation techniques. He struggled to remember them now. 

\---

Daniel hadn't read Marvolo's latest book, but maybe he'll try to. _Later,_ he reminded himself. He couldn't afford the time nowadays, or the energy and focus. In the meanwhile, he was enjoying the reading, aided by the excellent acoustics of the space, and the author's rich and commanding voice. Then something changed, a subtle undercurrent that transformed the quality of sound. His ear was trained to detect it, but no one else in the crowd seemed to notice, except one other man across the room. 

Daniel looked that way and met his father's gaze. That was shock enough, but then he noticed Harry turn and leave, as if he was being pursued by hellhounds, and the strange disturbance disappeared even as Mr. Marvolo began reading from his older work. 

So Harry was the cause?

He wasn't in the right mood to listen now, and noticed instead how Fred sidled against him, hand sliding around his waist. His lover must have noticed his father, too. Daniel wanted to smile at him in gratitude and reassurance, but he felt too shaken. 

"I have to go to the store. Do you want to come with me?" Fred whispered in his ear. He had to relieve Violet, who had asked for the afternoon off so she could line up and get a book signed. It seemed important enough to her that Fred immediately agreed even though it was going to be crazy busy.

Daniel shook his head. "I'm just going to walk around for a bit. I'll drop by later and help out, okay?" 

Fred gave him a searching look, but nodded. "Alright. Let's leave the fanboys behind." He watched Daniel walk in the opposite direction, and waved a hand in front of his brother's face. George ignored him and was practically bouncing in place in total excitement.

Violet was almost as bad, running out the door as soon as he came in sight, and throwing her apron at Fred's head. "You're a darling, Fred," she called out behind her. She was clutching a book, and from the cover, it looked well-loved and well-used.

Fred shook his head, tied the apron behind his back with practised ease and waded hip deep into the crowd of children. "Alright, you sprogs. You better be buying with real money, you hear! Line up and I'll ring you in a jiffy. No pushing!" He channeled his inner-mum and gave some brats the stinky eyeball. Not literally, of course. (Those cost five knuts apiece.) 

On the other end of Diagon, Daniel was contemplating a skewer of some shady meat and trying to look for a free corner to breathe. As much as he was at home in front of crowds, being among them was a different matter. Too many competing voices and not enough space to really sort them out. He was getting the beginnings of a headache when his father stepped up beside him.

His mouth dried up in an instant, and he swallowed the piece of meat he was chewing on with a grimace. "Sir," he murmured, inclining his head the proper amount to indicate respect for an elder, though not quite the right gesture for a son to greet his father.

The man was as spry now as he was five years ago when Daniel left home, and he held himself rigidly straight. He was clean-shaven, his long white hair neatly pulled back in a low braid. His eyes were just as sharp as his beak of a nose. "I see you are still with those two jokers," he said without any preamble.

Daniel closed his eyes. "Don't," he said softly. His father had never had much of a sense of humour. Which had made him appreciate George and Fred even more.

"I am not trying to pick a fight, Daniel," his father said.

"So what are you trying to do?" He asked.

The old man looked at the crush of people around them. "I wanted to give you this," he said, handing Daniel an envelope. He recognized it immediately even before he opened it. Inside was a ticket to the Cantatio Concert. Not just any ticket. It was the golden one, for the acoustically advantageous seat in the hall, which his father always reserved for the guest of honour. 

He hadn't attended any concerts since he left the Conservatoire. "Why now?" He asked, voice breaking a little. 

His father tilted his head back. "I hear things," he said vaguely.

Daniel immediately turns pale. "I see," he choked out. 

"There's only one. I didn't think your boys would appreciate it," his father said with a touch of condescension. Daniel nodded, because even _he_ wouldn't do that to his father. Bringing the twins to such a formal event would be to invite mischief and mayhem.

His father inclined his head and turned to walk away. Daniel watched him leave, still a little bit in a stupor. He threw the skewer away and held onto the wall with one hand, while the other clutched at the envelope. _What, exactly, has he heard?_

\---

Hermione had read all the Marvolo books, of course. But she didn't like the last one. All those dead muggles, all the hateful rhetoric. It gave her nightmares. Even the main character's final redemptive death--there were seven in total--could not erase all that have gone before. Still, she came to the reading, if only because she missed being surrounded by magic. She felt the odds were good that she _won't_ see Molly today. Or that she could hide in the crowd if she _does_ see her.

Violet's place felt like a haven, and her little sister Blue (short for Bluebell, unfortunately) was a smart-mouthed fifth form student who didn't seem fazed by their unexpected house-guest. Hermione enjoyed Blue's company. She helped with the meals some nights, and had even managed a half-way decent pot roast the other night. Violet didn't push her, but she made sure to drag her into their film-watching, or their conversations about everything from make-up to politics to celebrity gossip. But she thought it was time she stopped running away.

She picked their meeting place. Fortescue's. Violet had worked some kind of magic, and got her a job. It was just a bit of editing of articles for The Quibbler, and it paid in peanuts, but beggars can't be choosers. (Though apparently, Xenophilius Lovegood neither wanted nor needed a fact-checker, which made her grumble.)

At the very least, it meant she could afford to order a tall sundae of the phosphorescent ice cream everybody else was having. She was just tasting it (sweet and tart lime with a jalapeño aftertaste) when Ron arrived. She handed him an extra spoon, just as if they were on a date, sharing dessert like they have always done. When he smiled at her, she couldn't help smiling back. He looked taller somehow. Older. Had it really been that long since she last saw him?

"How are you?" He asked, after they had polished off most of the sundae.

Hermione gave a smile that was one-third grimace. "I'm really sorry for how I ran out," she said, ignoring his question entirely. "I needed time away from everything. But it wasn't fair to you."

"I understand," Ron interrupted, hand reaching out to cover hers on the table. "Believe me, Hermione. I do. And I want what's best for you, too. You and our baby."

"But I'm sick of things being decided for me," Hermione said, trying very hard not to pull away. "We make one mistake, and suddenly, everyone treats me like a moron. I mean, where does it say that I have to marry you, anyway? Who made up that stupid rule?"

Ron froze. "It's the inheritance law. It's carved into stone. Literally. I mean, we're not rich so it's not like the baby will inherit a great pile of gold or any sort of title. But I do have some things entailed to me from my Great-Uncle Merry. And Aunt Gwynn has called upon her Sewing Circle to make a Protection Quilt. It's mostly symbolic that she'll be born on the right side of the blanket, but the magic on that thing is nothing to sneeze at."

Hermione drew herself up in outrage, but it all flew away as she repeated, "She? How could you know that already?"

He looked confused. "There's this spell, see..."

"Ron Weasley, you will not cast any spell on me without my express permission. Is that clear?" Hermione crossed her arms above the barely-noticeable curve of her stomach. 

Ron raised his hands in surrender. "Alright. Anyway, it's not fool-proof. Mum thought I was a girl up until the last second."

She giggled in spite of herself. "Fine. There are some reasons for marriage," she conceded. "But the most important one--"

"The most important reason is that I love you," Ron interjected. "Even without the baby, Hermione, I think I would have asked you to marry me straight out of school. It's just that you would have said no." He lifted the corner of his mouth in a sad parody of a smile. "You must hate me very much right now."

"No, I don't," Hermione said softly. "It's just--" She turned up both her palms, a gesture of helplessness. "Actions have consequences. A lesson we have both been forced to learn. But tying the both of us into marriage over it is too drastic a step to be taken unthinkingly."

"So think about it," Ron said. He unslung his rucksack and dug through it, pulling out a binder and sliding it across the table. "You have a few months. As long as we get married before she's born, the inheritance law will hold."

"What's this?" Hermione asked, but she didn't hear his answer. She was too busy paging through the tabs and the sheets of paper inside. It was such a muggle thing, with post-its and highlighted sections. But at the same time, the handwriting was done with quill, and the paper was parchment cut into uneven sheets. And there were moving pictures glued to some of them.

It was a thing of utter beauty. Ronald Weasley had researched and compiled everything from admission requirements to muggle universities and magical institutes in the continent. There were job openings in wizarding London, adverts for flats for rent, a list of prominent barristers operating privately, even some articles from Witch Weekly about child-care costs and parenting tips. There were also letters of recommendation from all but one of her professors at Hogwarts. (But who needed Binns anyway?) _Including_ Headmaster Severus Snape's. 

Hermione stared down at the spiky letters rolling across the parchment. 

_Miss Granger has the distinction of being the top student of her year for all seven years at Hogwarts. Her keen thirst for knowledge is augmented by her excellent grasp of logic and her ambitious nature, yet restrained by a world-view that is surprisingly ethical._

_Her muggleborn roots are also an unexpected advantage, as she had, even as a student, assisted in the revisions of the outdated curriculum and material in Muggle Studies. Her scholarship is perhaps naive and she has yet to learn to discern with proper judgement sources that are unreliable or questionable, but she has the makings of a brilliant academic in any field._

"Brilliant academic," she murmured under her breath. Then pulled the whole thing to her chest, giving Ron such a beaming smile that he smiled back automatically. "This is amazing," she told him. " _You_ are amazing."

"I am?" Ron asked bemusedly. "Because I read the letters and they all seem to say that _you_ are amazing."

This silent meeting of the mutual admiration society lasted for a minute before reality crashed in again. "Can we really pull this off, Ron?" Hermione asked. "Marriage? Babies? Meaningful careers? Can I really have it all?"

"Witches and wizards live for a long time, Hermione," Ron reminded her. "You can have five careers if you like. Especially if you want to get into the Wizengamot. I don't think they accept candidates younger than seventy. After Ginny graduates, Mum's going to go back to work. She was thinking of delaying it another couple of years because of our baby but I told her not to. And I talked to your mum, too. She gave me the list of the universities and some forms about child benefits. She scolded my ear off, first, but then she told me stories about you as a kid, and stories about her pregnancy with you. And George told me we're always welcome to stay at their place while we figure things out, and--" He was babbling and he knew it. 

Hermione took pity on him, dropped the binder on the table and climbed into his lap to shut him up properly. With her tongue.

Neither of them heard the scandalized whispers of the other customers until Mr. Fortescue himself had to tap them on the shoulder and give them his best glare.

"Just so we're clear, was that a yes?" A dazed Ron asked just as they were pushed out of the shop. 

Hermione smiled at him. "That was a hell yes." 

Ron may or may not have short sparks through his wand up into the air that the people milling about in Diagon Alley thought were part of the festivities. They followed suit, and in the colourful confusion, a snogging couple up against a wall was nothing to write home about.

\---

Harry opened his eyes and had to blink a few times to process the view. He was lying down on the grass. _In Mantou Alley._ His mind supplied. And he was surrounded by goblins on all sides. 

Ever since his acquaintance with Master Arugba, he had become more sensitive to goblins, seeing them everywhere and not just at Gringott's. His master's claim to be half-blood made more sense when he compared the features of the goblins around him. They had smaller features, particularly their eyes and noses. They also had less mobile ears, though when he had commented on that, his master had laughed at him.

"It's impolite to show such movements outside of family," he said. "It's an intimate act, usually involuntary in house-elves and in very young goblins. We are taught to control them eventually."

Harry sat up, arching his back to hear his spine pop. A few of the goblins winced at his movement. He knew there was a polite way to greet them. But his master had never bothered to teach him, saying that was a lesson for when he makes journeyman. So Harry just clambered onto his feet and bowed to the oldest-looking of the group.

"Hmm," the goblin said. "Graceless but with good instincts."

Harry fought to keep the pleased smile off his face. Another goblin from behind him spoke.

"Much too young. And uncontrolled. I do hope you have no plans to bring the whole of Diagon down on our ears, boy."

The _boy_ was spoken so very much like his Uncle Vernon used to that Harry immediately bristled. "And I suppose you were born with perfect control, mastersmith?" 

The goblin who spoke huffed in indignation. Then the others started to speak among themselves. Their tongue was unfamiliar to his ears. Another thing his master did not bother to teach him. It was strange how Harry could see those gaps now. What was the reasoning behind them? Did he not plan for Harry to be able to work with other goblins? What was his path supposed to be, then?

Finally, they fell silent, and the oldest of them spoke once more. "You wish to see Purgatory. We will take you, Harry Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit that most kicked my ass was Hermione and Ron's little reunion. I am about two (and a bit) chapters close to finishing this unless the outline fails me. Thanks for your patience especially when I get distracted by my Asian drama drabbles.


	9. Purgatory

Severus Snape seemed to have misplaced his boyfriend. This discovery was galling for more than one reason. He had come to hear soon-to-be Professor Marvolo's reading, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. But there was nobody to share that joy with; the space by his side was empty. Also, when applied to for answers, George Weasley merely shrugged and pointed out the door. Harry had left. And he hadn't even noticed. And even though his instincts screamed at him to look for the young man, he ignored instinct and chose to stand in line to get his book signed.

He could well imagine the reaction of the portraits in his rooms. 

He did not allow himself to linger over-long once he had reached the spot in front of the famous author. They would meet at Hogwarts eventually, and would have more chances to talk in depth. So he smiled, a little more warmer than usual, and received the signed book graciously. _To a Snake-in-arms, A promise of future adventures. -T. Marvolo._ It said on the flyleaf.

Then he was just looking for a corner in which he could do a locating spell, when an owl descended over his head with a note. Severus caught it impatiently. It was in Harry's hand. _Had to leave first. See you later. -H_

Severus frowned. It was... odd of Harry to disappear thus. And the tone of the note was hard to decipher. Too abrupt, and too lacking in affection. Had something happened? Or perhaps he was overthinking things. The lad was not given to over-long sentences, even in the best of times. He decided he may as well head back to Hogwarts. The next day was a general meeting for all the professors. And he wanted to make sure that the set of rooms which had been assigned to Professor Marvolo were adequately cleaned and furnished. And a suitably secure location prepared for the werewolf.

\---

Harry Potter never once thought this would happen to him. His years at Hogwarts-- barring the tournament and the fiasco with Quirrell--had all been dull and commonplace. Inasmuch as Hogwarts can be dull and commonplace.

Magic had become just another thing to revise about, that is, until he had met Master Arugba. The goblins have their own language, their own culture, and their own magic. It really was strange for wizards to not know the first thing about them when they dealt with them all the time. Binns had talked about the wars, of course. But he had reduced it all to dates and names dry as dust. Like it was all a story in a book. And most of the students slept through History, or spent that time revising for other classes. It was a woeful state, and Harry had not even realized the extent of his own ignorance, and the ignorance of his fellow witches and wizards.

Unless it was a deliberate decision to perpetuate such ignorance. And if so, deliberate on whose part? The goblins? The Board of Wizarding Education? The Ministry?

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by a thin vibration in the rock around him. He paused in his journey through the tunnels. One of the goblins--the youngest, by the look of him, though it was hard to tell the difference--had taken charge of him, leading him through a doorway into the ground, down past the grass and the earth to a set of tunnels, initially of packed earth and then of stone. He had followed one path, while the other goblins had dispersed in other directions. The vibration felt like stone magic, but not like any that Harry have had the experience of working with.

"They are bolstering the tunnels. Reinforcing the walls and ceilings," his guide informed him, guessing correctly at his thoughts. "It is grunt work done by the least talented of us, but nevertheless a necessary task. No doubt your master thinks too much of you to teach you about it." For all that his words were sarcastic, the goblin's voice remained flat.

"Thank you for the explanation," Harry said with a nod. The goblin grunted and continued onwards.

The tunnel was the point of origins of Harry's train of thought. There were layers and layers of history pressed into the earth, if only one had the ability to read them. Harry's own sensitivity allowed him a glimpse, but there were incomprehensible things, things he knew only the shape of. For the tunnels were living art. 

There were mosaics of stone from all over England forming scenes from great battles. There were stones etched with runes and other scripts. Sometimes the stone themselves held the story. Stone that was ancient and stone that was newly forged were locked together overhead, like hands clasping each other. Some of the stones carried a song within them, though Harry could only feel their humming. Other stones felt like fire, and Harry found himself tugging at the neck of shirt in discomfort. It was a strange journey, almost like a dream, and he realized he hadn't kept track of the many twists and turns they have taken. 

Finally, the tunnel opened out into a room, lit with the glow of a peculiar kind of stone set in regular intervals on the walls. There were doors on the opposite end, though they looked more like gates, made of thin metal strips woven together. In the middle of the room were a set of chairs, straight-backed and made of wood.

"You will wait here," the goblin said before marching away through one of the doors. Harry had no choice but to obey.

It was tempting to experiment. In the room alone, there were so many things he could have touched and felt and _learned_. But without an invitation from the creator, and without the presence of an anchor, it would be the height of rudeness, not to mention extremely dangerous for him to do so.

He had almost lost control in the crowd at Diagon Alley. Harry was aware that the goblins has restricted his movement through their tunnels while he was undergoing training. His own vault had been emptied, and his gold moved to an aboveground room. Why this sudden change, right after his near-miss? Or was it not a near-miss, but a test? A test that he had inexplicably passed? Harry frowned up at the ceiling, tipping the chair a little on its back legs. How close an eye were they keeping on him anyway? He supposed this was as good an answer as any.

One of the gates opened without warning, and Harry almost toppled over in his chair. The legs settled back on the ground with a loud thump that fills the room, and Harry felt his ears go warm. Seven house-elves walked out through the gate and stood in a row in front of him. 

Harry had seen house-elves before; Hogwarts was rife with them. And the twins had introduced him and Ron early to the kitchens, one of the places that the elves were fully visible. 

_These_ elves were different. They were wearing clothes, for one thing. 

But they also looked different. Thinner. Older. Most of them anyway. They also, significantly enough, all had the letter P embroidered on their clothes, a small detail that caught Harry's eye. All except one.

The one at the end wore a shirt and pants like a goblin, and looked almost like a baby. He was also glaring right at Harry, while everyone else were staring at the floor. Harry didn't know what to say, and nobody else spoke, so the silence lengthened to something awkward and almost painful. 

Finally, the elf at the head of the line stepped forward, and bowed deeply, head almost touching the floor. "Master Harry," he murmured. "It is a pleasure to meet you." The words were a surprise; the elves at Hogwarts all spoke in a sort of baby-talk that made them seem like toddlers rather than servants.

As if a dam had burst, the rest also bowed. Even the one at the end, though he did it only because the elf next to him had a hand on his head. Then an elf in the middle asked in a hushed, excited whisper, "Are you going to take us back? Are we to have a Home again?"

Harry raised a hand. "First of all, I need to say that I am not able to procure your services. I am an apprentice, and as such, have no legal right to do so until I have been given my mastery. That is the law, as far as I understand it." He quirked an eyebrow at the first who spoke, who seemed to be the oldest and the head of the nine.

"That is so," the elf spoke. As one, the ears of the rest drooped, and their eyes dropped to the ground. All except for the last one, who thumbed his nose at Harry and stuck out his tongue. "Newt! You will apologize immediately," the oldest elf ordered.

Harry interrupted. "And secondly, I would like it if you all introduced yourselves." The elves soon gave their names in order, as: Hammy, Jetty, Bunty, Pokey, Chassy, Lindy and Newt. Three of them were girls, and Harry could not determine their ages, though the last three seemed much younger.

Harry nodded when they were done. Then, as gently as he could manage it, he asked them. "How have you been living here?"

None of them could answer him. Finally Hammy the head elf ventured a guess. "Do you mean to ask, sir, if the goblins are treating us well?"

"I mean to know your living conditions," Harry clarified. "An elf told me that this place is called Purgatory. I would like to know what that means, if you please."

Hammy rubbed at his chin. "It is called that because we live in hope for a Home. Even as years and years pass. Even as our numbers dwindle. We are always waiting. And we will continue to wait until you have acquired your mastery, sir."

Harry shook his head. "Why? Aren't you free already? Why can't you enjoy that freedom? What's so good about being bound to a family, or a place, or a person?"

The elf beside Hammy, an elderly woman from the sound of her, spoke up in a quavering voice. "A Home is everything to us. It is love, and strength, and belonging. You are not the first wizard to question such things. But that is what is, what has always been, and what will always be."

"It's hogwash, it is," Newt piped up. "It's all a lie. _I've_ never belonged to a Home, and I don't mind it one bit."

Lindy elbowed him. "Shut up, Newt."

Harry rubbed his nose. "Can we all sit down somewhere and just talk? I would like to get to know you all."

Hammy snaps his fingers and low chairs appeared in a semi-circle around the one that Harry was using. "Would you like something to eat as well, sir?" He asked eagerly.

Harry shook his head. "No, please. Just. Tell me more. I want to hear from everyone. Yes. Even Newt." He smiled at the young elf, who turned up his nose and sat down on a chair. Harry got them all to sit as he took the chair in front of them. He looked at their faces one by one as if to memorize them all. They might be the closest thing to a family that he had. Before. "Do you remember me as a baby?" He asked a little shyly. "Do you remember my parents?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh! For me, anyway. Working on the last chapter and the epilogue... So I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. 
> 
> Also I thought I was the only one who didn't like Remus or Sirius that much but the comments I get for Bound and this has me thinking otherwise. Hahaha. I'm still trying to give them a fair shake.


	10. The Apprentice

Remus Lupin was almost vibrating out of his skin. He couldn't untangle his feelings, couldn't separate the fear from the excitement. So instead he focused on the sight in front of him. Hogwarts. It had been a long time since he'd last set foot there. Over twenty years by his count. And it looked exactly the same. 

He walked through the front door and inhaled deeply. He was a wolf creature one day out of every month. But he remained a werewolf the rest of the time. He was turned so young that he couldn't remember any other way to be. And so he relied on his sense of smell to assess people and places. His sight was nothing to write home about, but he had excellent hearing as well. He smelled and heard Severus before seeing him descend the staircase. 

Severus Snape had aged remarkably well. But then he had been awkward as a teenager. Spotty and too-thin, with a long nose that dominated his face. Now the nose did not look out of place among the rest of his features. He had filled out, and he walked with something approaching grace, long black robe swishing around him.

Remus felt the familiar guilt churning under his breast-bone. Over twenty years. And it felt like only yesterday. 

Severus caught his eye as he walked towards him. "Reminiscing, Professor Lupin?" He asked. His rich voice caught Remus by surprise. 

He gave the man an uncertain half-smile even as he straightened up. The title was unexpected, and a pleasurable reminder of why he was here. "Cataloguing differences, actually, headmaster."

Severus looked momentarily gratified by his use of that title. The power it implied was a good antidote to all their shared memories of what Remus now can acknowledge as out-and-out bullying. Four Marauders against one Slytherin. He was a weak boy, himself. Too grateful to have had friends to stand up for his own opinions. But no longer. The Marauders were no more.

"I see. I believe I shall do the same once the term gets underway. Would you like me to show you to your rooms first, professor? We can meet for tea to discuss your schedule in detail." Remus nodded, and Severus led him towards what will be his quarters. 

On a whim, he waved to one of the familiar portraits on the wall. "Well, I never," the lady murmured, fanning herself furiously and winking at him. "Look who's back."

\---

"We couldn't stop him, master. We should have let Master Black kill us," Hammy confessed in a low voice. "We deserve far worse for our failure."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "No, you don't. He made his own choices. If even his best friends couldn't save him, how could you even hope to?"

"Our magic should have warned us," Jetty said. "Every wizard that we are bound to is our responsibility. His friends left him to grieve alone, but we shouldn't have done the same. He should have had one of us beside him at all times." Her words turned bitter. "But we were too busy looking after you. And we were too busy with our own grief. You may say whatever you want, sir. But we know what we have done. What we failed to do."

Harry shook his head and cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, I'm glad you survived. And I am grateful that you cared for me, if only for a little while."

Jetty blew her nose. "We heard Master Black sent you to _muggles_. That was wrong of him."

"There, there, Jetty," Hammy said, patting her on the shoulder. "The master doesn't seem to have come to harm with _them._ " 

Harry grimaced at the reminder of Sirius Black. "He wasn't that much older than I am when he got saddled with a baby. I think he started out with good intentions." The side of his lips quirked in a humourless smile. "And then he got complacent. My childhood wasn't a happy one, but it wasn't that terrible either. I'm not angry at him for that. I'm angry because he didn't bother to try. For years and years, I was officially his ward, but he didn't try at all to get to know me. At least, not until Severus browbeat him into caring. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Like house-elves," Newt piped up. "That's what we're supposed to be, you know. Out of sight. And out of mind. Nobody thought you'd come because wizards don't seek out lost elves. Especially not personally. Usually they just send out contracts." 

All the elves turned as one to glare at Newt. Harry chuckled. "You seem different from the rest, Newt. Why is that?"

"Because I wasn't born in captivity," Newt said evenly. Harry met his gaze and held it for a long moment before nodding once.

"What do you do with your time?" He asked them all, but his eyes were on Newt.

"We keep busy," Jetty explained. "The goblins give us work in exchange for room and board. It's different from having a Home, of course. None of us know much magic outside of Home spells. But we learned a few."

"You all have some kind of specializations?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

Hammy shook his head. "We used to. There were some of us who specialized in the kitchen, and in the gardens, and in midwifery. But now we just do some general cleaning. Errands and chores. It's a terrible life for a house-elf, it is."

Harry bit his bottom lip. "I'll consult with my master, if that's alright with you. I can't take you on, as I said. But he may have some ideas on what to do. Oh, and can I speak with Newt alone, please?"

The elves looked at each other then all disappeared with a pop, leaving Newt sitting down with his arms crossed over his chest. "What do you want?" He asked rudely.

"I want to know what you can do," Harry said. "See, I have this idea..."

\---

Master Arugba looked between the young house-elf and the young wizard. "Do you know what you're asking, Harry?"

"Not entirely," Harry said, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm just asking if it can be done."

Master Arugba nodded. "I will find out."

Young Newt bounces on his tiny feet, and smiles at him.

\---

"A house-elf as apprentice? Have you lost your mind? What's next, a centaur? A hag?"

Master Arugba stood before the council, head held high. "Have you all forgotten our history? The elves are kin, closer kin to us than wizards. It's not as impossible as you make it sound, surely? House-elves have strong magic and excellent control."

"But they are weak," the oldest of the council declared. "They cannot even survive long after being freed, as you well know. Would you take on an apprentice who would rather stay by your side for the rest of their life than to seek mastery?"

"Not this one," Master Arugba said. "This one has fire. He could very well overtake Harry."

Another goblin snorted. "That would be interesting to see."

"Will you break every tradition that we have?" The oldest asked wearily. "Will you bring our Hollow down upon us?"

"Traditions need to be shaken up once in a while," another said. "Lest we fossilize into stone. We will watch this one closely, Arugba. Under your vein, yes, and under our eye."

Arugba bowed. "It shall be as you wish."

And the rest of the council agreed.

\---

Newt was like the younger brother from hell. Not that Harry had ever had a brother to compare it to. Dudley was his age, and completely uninterested in him. And that was years and years ago. Ron was maybe a little bit like a brother, at least before they fought. And so were the twins. 

But Newt was about three times more annoying than the twins on a sugar high. He liked to pop in and out of the room, and he had double Harry's energy and quadruple his magic, and maybe six times his curiosity and with a boat-load of anger to boot.

Master Arugba kept raising his eyebrow at Harry as if to say, _Whose brilliant idea was this anyway?_

But even when it was hard, it was fun. 

Newt had to learn everything from the start, so Harry got a refresher course in the basics while helping the young elf, who only grudgingly accepted his instructions. 

They made contests of everything from identifying stone to acquiring the best kind or the most in quantity to finishing the small smithing tasks that their master set them to do. As they gained skill in the creation of the simple stone charms that Master Arugba made to sell, Harry found himself going beyond the directives, making the charm more and more elaborate, the carvings more intricate, the spells attached stronger or more complex, as if the stone required it of him.

Master Arugba said nothing about it except an enigmatic _Hmmm._

Newt started late, which should have given him a handicap in this race that Harry found himself embroiled in, but that wasn't the case. He never stopped asking questions, and while Harry still tired easily after a difficult working, Newt didn't have the same limitations to his magic.

"I didn't realize how formidable house-elf magic can be," Harry murmured one day after examining the unusual wand that Newt had crafted. It was made not of wood but of crystal, with enough transparency that one could see the core, in this instance unicorn hair.

"A wizard who knows nothing of us. How unusual," Newt retorted. 

Harry made a face at him. "And it's amazing how that chip on your shoulder doesn't drag you to the ground, you imp. Can't you take a compliment?"

"Not from you," Newt said stiffly.

Harry sighed. He had invited Newt's family over for dinner on their next free night, but Newt appeared to have taken offence at his presumption. "I know you miss them, Newt, but I just would like the chance to get to know them better."

"What for?" Newt said, eyes narrowing over at him. "You're either planning to bind them again or planning to set them free. Either way, I don't like you and we're better off without you."

Arugba held up a hand and stepped between his students. "It is difficult to forge an equal relationship between wizards and house-elves. But it will not be done by bickering. Why don't you tell him, Harry, what it is you are thinking of?"

Harry lifted his hands helplessly. "I want to help. That's all. And you're right that I don't know anything about you. But I thought given the chance, I can find out, so I'd know what I can do. What I _should_ do."

Newt narrowed his eyes at him. "Why should you? We've been fine for years and years. We don't need you to do anything."

"Are you really, truly fine?" Harry asked gently. "And it's not just you and your family, Newt. What about the others who are still bound? I don't know what to do, but to do nothing is to be blind and deaf to the problem. That's not something I _can_ do."

"What are you working towards?" Master Arugba asked Harry, though the question seemed to be meant for Newt as well.

"I don't know. You said the elves often cannot survive freedom, but Newt seems fine, so it's not an insurmountable problem. Something to help them remember their past, maybe," he added almost as an afterthought. 

"Our memories are excellent," Newt informed him, though there was less anger in his words. "As for me, I want to be famous all over the wizarding world. I want people to know what house-elves can do."

"And so you shall," Master Arugba said softly. It sounded almost prophetic.

\---

George came with Hermione to pick up her things from Violet's and take them to the Love Nest. Ron had the unenviable task of talking to his mum about moving out--and packing his stuff. She was glad not to be in his place. 

Molly Weasley was a kind and generous woman, but with a tendency towards over-protective that bordered on over-bearing. As if her every sentence had a silent _It's for your own good_ tacked on at the end. Hermione noticed that most of the Weasley kids had formed their own coping mechanisms to deal with their mother: Charlie and Bill by moving to another country and working high-risk jobs; Percy by being a self-righteous overachiever; the twins by making a joke of everything; Ron by coasting on as little effort as possible; and Ginny by spending all her time either beating boys in quidditch, or breaking their hearts. 

When she was much younger, she and Harry were included in their brood, two poor adopted duckies in a coop full of wild geese. And she wondered what either of them would resort to if Molly's fussing had continued to adulthood. But Molly's attitude towards her had changed after she and Ron started dating. There was a lot more distance there. Harry, too, had been person non-grata after the whole almost-vampire ordeal came to light.

"Want some advice, sis?" George murmured to her, after showing her the room in the attic. 

"Sis?" Hermione shot back, though it wasn't unpleasant to hear.

"You'll get used to us eventually," George assured her, leaning against the doorway. "Though mum might never forgive you and Ron for getting married ahead of Bill."

Hermione laughed lightly. Bill had just gotten a girlfriend, some French witch who had started working alongside him, but he had yet to bring her home and hadn't even told them her name. Molly wasn't pleased. "What advice?" She asked. She liked George best among Ron's brothers. Though not enough to trust any foodstuff he handed to her.

"Even if you want to, don't burn your bridges," George informs her. "Babies are trouble. Sooner or later, you'll have an emergency and you'll need to be able to leave it at your mum's or mine."

Hermione bit her lip but she nodded. That sounded very practical. 

"No matter what Percy says, _don't_ work for the Ministry," George continued. "It's full of purebloods mired in their backwards thinking. They pretend they're not sexist, either but they are. You're better off working with Gringotts like Bill. The goblins won't like you, but they'll give you a chance to earn their respect. And they could always use someone who can work in both the wizarding and the muggle world. They're also the ones revolutionizing wizarding technologies these days."

"How come you didn't go that route then?" Hermione asked with wide eyes. She had never seen this side of George. 

He smirked at her. "I don't like having a boss tell me what to do. And lastly..."

"Lastly what?"

He took a step towards her. "Ron's not the kind of guy that will get his name in the books or his picture in the paper. He's pretty ordinary and boring so I don't really know what you see in him--"

"That's what you think!" Hermione interrupted. "Fame and accolades aren't everything, you know. I don't think Harry's very happy with his notoriety. Ron has something he beats all the rest of you in."

George met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"He has the best heart," Hermione said, lifting her chin and daring him to deny it.

George's face broke out into a wide smile. "Good. You just might survive our family after all." With that, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead, before turning and bounding down the stairs.

She watched him leave a little bemusedly. Maybe in five years, she'll be able to speak Weasley. Or even in ten.


	11. Music is Magic

The Cantatio Concert was held right on the grounds of the Conservatoire in a hall especially designed for the music. 

The ceiling seemed impossibly high, though that was mere illusion. The actual dimensions were carefully calculated so that the sounds that the orchestra produced were full and rich, but also so that a single performer, such as a pianist or even a singer, would be able to reach the far corners of the room from the centre stage. The walls curved like the inside of a seashell, and the floors were covered in lush burgundy carpet. But they also relied on muffling spells cast over the audience, pinned in place by a thin, gossamer net strung overhead, barely visible except to someone who knows it's there.

Daniel couldn't help but look up as he sat in his seat, catching sight of that net before he blinked it away. There were looks from the people sitting on either side of him. They were aware of his place of honour, and he knew they were judging his appearance. He had conceded to the occasion by colouring his hair back to its original honey blonde, and he was wearing a black suit with a pale blue shirt, sans tie. But his hair was still long, hanging past his shoulder blades. And he still wore a single dragon's tail earring on his left ear, swinging lazily back and forth, its gold-green scales gleaming in the soft light. Compromises. Maybe his father was ready to make them, too.

A hush fell as the torches on-stage grew brighter, and on the net, points pulsed as people found their voices lowering in volume. In the old days, they held a spell of silence instead. And sometimes, it was powerful enough that people who watched a concert went mute for days afterwards.

Daniel's trip down nostalgia lane disappeared the moment the first note was struck. 

He unconsciously leaned forward, watching the conductor, wand in hand, following the gestures to the music. He heard the violins first, low and tentative, then the violas in counter-point as they played across their range. Then the cello's robust voice added depth to the mix, just as the flutes came in high and light and lilting like a flock of birds swooping overhead. The trumpets blared in sheer joy and the timpani marched its beat, holding everything in place. For a long moment, all the voices of each group of instruments crashed together like waves upon rock, then went from discordance toward harmony, following the variations like a slow, stately spiral, higher and higher. A second peak, a crash of the cymbals, the violins once again taking centre stage like siren voices coming together as one, painting lines in the air... And then silence so massive Daniel felt crushed by it. He barely noticed the applause.

It had been years since he was here; and yet he had not realized until now how much he had missed it all. The performance took three-quarters of an hour but it had seemed shorter. A voice announced a fifteen-minute intermission and Daniel took a moment while the people around him streamed past towards the exits. There would be some wine and appetizers out in the lobby, served by the apprentice bards who were not performing tonight. He had been a server himself until he was twelve, before he started participating in every concert. The role of the audience was quite different, he found. His fingers were itching, and the music still ringing in his ears...

By the time he had stumbled out onto the lobby, he had himself under control again. And then Harry saw him through the crush and fought his way through to clasp him on the shoulder. 

"I didn't know you'd be here," Harry said with a half-smile. There was a question in his eyes that Daniel wasn't ready to answer so he merely shrugged. 

"I got a free ticket. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Another field trip," Harry explained, even as he turned to introduce the people with him. Daniel had already met Master Arugba, but he mistook the other one for a child until the creature elbowed his way past the two and stopped in front of Daniel. He was a house-elf. One dressed in a tiny black and white suit complete with a dark green bow-tie.

"I'm Newt," the elf said, holding out a hand defiantly.

Daniel accepted the hand bemusedly. "I'm Daniel Cantatio."

"He's my fellow apprentice," Harry gave as an explanation when it seemed nobody else was willing to offer him one. "I'm not exactly sure what we're doing here," he added, with a grin at his master.

Master Arugba raised both eyebrows. "Really? Then perhaps you're not ready yet, Harry. But I believe young Newt has an idea."

"To study the architecture, of course," Newt said, ears perked and nose in the air. "The builders' craft requires that we familiarize ourselves with current techniques and the Conservatoire Hall is one of the most beautiful pieces of wizarding architecture in Britain." 

Harry made a face at Daniel, which made him laugh. But in the next breath Harry turned around suddenly, and murmured a name. And was gone.

Daniel exchanged a look with Master Arugba. The name that he had uttered was Severus. 

\---

It wasn't his idea to go. The term had just started and there were a million and one things he had had to attend to. As much as he enjoyed music, he simply didn't have the _time_ to come to the concert. 

He said as much when Professor Marvolo invited him one evening during dinner. He had attended the concert before, a rare occurrence, but each experience was a precious memory. The first time was a treat given to him by Albus Dumbledore after he had attained his mastery. And the last was when the same man had handed over to him his position as headmaster. Somehow the music that night had captured his conflicted feelings of hesitation and triumph. 

"Surely Minerva could take over your duties for a night, Severus," the man added. The use of his first name was strange to hear. As much as he admired and respected the new professor, it implied an intimacy that the other man hadn't quite earned yet. McGonagall seemed not to mind, however, and it made sense considering the two were contemporaries at Hogwarts.

"I'm sure she is entirely capable of those duties, yes. But she has work of her own as well. I could not foist mine upon her for such frivolity," he said, his voice a little stiff. 

Marvolo smiled gently at him. There was a twinkle in his eye that was pure Albus. "If time is what you require, then that is easily remedied." And he slid the chain around his neck until the hourglass is revealed. 

Severus' eyes widened. "Why do you have that?" Time-turners were strictly controlled by the Ministry. 

"I know someone," Marvolo said almost mischievously. "It's how I find the time to write these days. I could lend it to you for a night if you'll consent to joining me."

And Severus was forced to concede. This night, however, he was a little glad he had said yes. The music had worked its magic upon him. It felt like a cleansing. The second half would surely hold more surprises.

"Wizarding culture is a precarious thing," Marvolo said, one hand holding a goblet of wine as they stood in the lobby amongst the crowd, stretching their legs a little. "Always in danger of stagnation on the one hand, and corruption on the other. I find the Conservatoire manages to dance lightly between the two extremes, don't you?"

Severus inclined his head. "Is that what you write your novels for? To wrestle with the same dilemma?"

Marvolo smiled at him, a self-satisfied smile that invited him to share in the joke. "Certainly, I am aware of it during the revisions. But I write because I find something fascinating, an idea or a person or a story. If it's not interesting, then I would not be able to put down a word."

"So what will you write next?" Severus asked. "There must be a reason you sent your application to Hogwarts this year."

Marvolo raised his eyebrows. "You could say that I was following a hunch. The history position has never been vacant in a century. But Binns suddenly decides to retire? Something must be in the air. I'm merely following my nose." Then he nodded to one direction. "Now there's a fascinating subject. He never did give an interview, did he?"

Severus turned around to find Harry bearing down upon him, eyes blazing. His heart started to pound.

"What are _you_ doing here?" It seemed like they spoke almost at the same time.

Marvolo chuckled and Severus remembered his manners. "May I present you Professor Tom Marvolo. Professor, Harry Potter."

"The writer," Harry said flatly even as he made his bow. Tom Marvolo was older than Severus, with dark hair just greying at the temples and no beard. He had eyes that didn't miss a thing and thin lips that showed his bemusement. The two of them looked good together. 

Severus flushed a little. Harry could feel his stomach sinking to his feet. "Yes, he invited me tonight. How about you? Are you here with the twins?"

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to say that he was on a field trip, because it sounded so juvenile all of a sudden. "No. My master and fellow apprentice."

Severus would have asked more--he had not heard about a fellow apprentice--but a bell chimed just then. The intermission would be over in five minutes.

Harry made his excuses and turned away. Severus watched the stiff shoulders of his lover and cursed under his breath.

But Marvolo was leading him back to the seats. 

Later. He'll have to _make_ time later. Severus wondered how many strings he would have to pull to get a time-turner of his own.

\---

The second half was as memorable as the first. Perhaps even more so, for there were several familiar faces during the solo performances. People that Daniel had grown up with, people who had come a long way since he'd last heard them perform.

His fingers were tapping out rhythms on his trouser leg long after the curtain had fallen. He couldn't help it. He headed straight to a building on Montague Street. 

He must have lost track of time again, because the next thing he knew, there was someone at the door. He opened it and Fred was standing there.

Daniel opened his mouth, and then closed it again for lack of anything to say.

"You didn't come home. Again," Fred said grimly.

"How did you know to find me here?" Daniel asked faintly.

"Tracking spell. I've studied them since we used one to find Harry," Fred explained before pushing past him into the room beyond. 

Daniel watched in bewilderment as Fred peered into ever nook and cranny of the room before stopping in front of him again. 

"So where is he?"

"Who?" Daniel asked.

Fred crossed his arms. "The guy you're seeing on the side." He didn't sound angry; just flat and empty.

Daniel rubbed his forehead. "There's no guy..."

"No? Then why do you disappear so often without telling us where you go? Why is it that you come home on this side of sunrise looking like crap? What are you hiding from me, Danny?" Fred's voice broke on the last word.

Daniel wrapped his arms around Fred's shoulders. The other man was trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lie to you. I just couldn't say it out loud."

"What?" Fred murmured against the side of his neck. His hands clutched at Daniel's robes. "What can't you say?"

Daniel extracted himself from the hug and slid a hand into Fred's. Without a word, he pulled the other man into another set of rooms beyond the door. He sat on a bench and pushed the lid open, running his fingers over the keys. Then, with Fred's eyes meeting his, he began to play.

As if on cue, the other instruments in the room came alive. He had tied the song into each of them, so that the notes triggered the magic. It was a complex spell that his father had forced him to learn when he turned eight. A Composer's Tangle, it was called.

Fred did not speak, but his eyes slowly filled with understanding.

\---

"You should have told me," George said in that patient way of his that meant he was close to losing his temper. "Worries should be shared. I could have helped you."

"But you had enough worries of your own," Fred murmured, keeping an eye on Daniel's still form on the bed. The twins were seated side by side in the alcove in front of the window. "Besides..."

"What?" 

Fred shrugged. "I always thought I liked him more than you did." It wasn't something they had ever discussed before. 

"Maybe at the start," George admitted. "I wasn't sure how we could make it work. Maybe I wasn't sure I could share _you._ " He added with a smile that made Fred flush. George ruffled his hair and endured the elbow to his side. "You may have wanted him first, but I'm pretty darn invested by now, you berk. In both of you."

Fred leaned on George's shoulder. Sometimes he felt years younger instead of mere minutes. "So you didn't just say yes to our ménage à trois to drive mom crazy?"

"Well that too." They smiled at each other in perfect understanding. 

Daniel spoke in the brief silence. "Come to bed, you idiots! I'm cold."

The twins exchanged a look and moved in a well-practiced and well-coordinated attack. Daniel wasn't cold for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one coming tomorrow, a little Easter treat. :) Please forgive my musical blatherings. What I know about music can fit the head of a pin.


	12. Harry's Questions

Newt had a room of his own. No more living on top of each other in a long row of beds. His mornings were empty of scoldings from his mother and grandfather. He still had chores to complete every day but they were easy. Mostly, he studied. Books and scrolls and even--after Harry Potter had shown him--something called vid-yos.

Today he was humming almost contentedly, and turning the pages of a big book about muggle architecture. Harry Potter was sitting across from him, though the wizard seemed restless. He was starting at the same page for the last ten minutes. 

Finally, Harry shut his book and leaned towards him. "Do house-elves go to school?"

Newt rolled his eyes. Another round of questions. "No," he said, knowing by now that the only way to get the wizard to stop would be to answer him. "We learn things magically." That only seemed to egg Harry on, and Newt had to explain how his mother transferred memories to him through touch. "The goblins have their gold and their made-things. We rely on stories and songs. Because we're used to not owning anything. But the most important memories we transfer from skin to skin."

"Could you do it to me?" Harry asked, practically falling off his chair in his eagerness. 

Newt narrowed his eyes at the wizard. "Why would I want to?"

"In the name of Science, or what passes for science around here," Harry said with a self-deprecating smile. 

Newt reluctantly held out a hand. Harry extended his. The wizard's skin felt cold and clammy in his. "Clear out your mind," he ordered.

Harry closed his eyes, and his breath slowed into the rhythm that was familiar by now. He sounded the same during morning meditation.

Newt picked a benign memory, of a small cleaning spell his mother had taught him years and years ago.

But Harry's expression didn't change. "It's not working," Newt complained. 

"Can we try it the other way around?" Harry asked, eyes opening.

Newt scoffed, but kept holding on, clearing his mind on instinct. Then he saw it: the image of some obsequious house-elf holding up socks and crying. He dropped Harry's hand like it was poisonous. "Who was that?" 

"Dobby," Harry said. "He's a free elf working at school. He used to belong to the family of a friend of mine, but he got really weird and they set him free. I met him in my second year; for some reason, he got a little attached to me. I gave him socks for Christmas and he cried."

"Weird how?" Newt asked, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not sure what's baseline normal for you guys," Harry admitted. "But Dobby supposedly started to hate his master, and he would hurt himself in punishment for those feelings. So they set him free. But he would still follow my friend around at school, so Hogwarts offered him a job there." Harry rubbed his chin, thinking of Dobby's behaviour. "He seemed to do well with freedom, but he still acted devoted to a few wizards so I'm not sure it really took. And all the other house-elves in the kitchen would ignore him and treat him like he was crazy."

Newt tucked away that piece of information. Maybe his grandfather could do something for the poor thing.

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Harry's enthusiasm broke his train of thought. "Maybe something to do with your receptors. Since I don't have any, I couldn't get any images."

"It was different from the usual image I get," Newt said, wanting to burst his bubble. "Vague and static. Almost like a wizarding picture rather than a real memory."

Harry frowned. "It could be my own ignorance. Or maybe it's the difference between how a wizard remembers and how a house-elf does. We could experiment with other wizards to really be sure." 

"As long as I get to decide which wizards," Newt retorts.

But Harry was on a roll. "You should try Master Arugba next, though since he's one of a kind, that's not particularly useful data. Except you'll probably overtake me even faster if he can teach you that way. Have you ever tried using a pensieve?"

Newt found the discussion stimulating in spite of himself. He first thought that this Harry was a fool. A do-gooder who didn't know the first thing about house-elves. But even though he was slow in his learning, his mind followed down myriad tangents until he would reach some unusual and brilliant conclusion. It was fascinating to watch, and even more fascinating to be a part of.

Not that he was ready to admit that to anyone other than himself.

\---

He owed Albus Dumbledore a favour. Severus rubbed a finger on the gold hourglass. A _big_ favour.

He knocked on the door, unconsciously holding his breath.

Master Arugba opened it and welcomed him in without any trace of surprise on his face. "Harry's next free day is two days from now," he stated without any judgment. "He's in the critical stage of his apprenticeship, Severus Snape."

"I understand and would appreciate his time nevertheless," Severus said, bowing.

Arugba tilted his head. "A time-turner is a very useful tool, but beware of abusing it. I will call Harry down."

But Harry was already running down the steps, breathless and red-faced. He threw himself into Severus' arms before he could even reach the bottom step. Severus caught him, and staggered.

"You brat!" He murmured into Harry's ear. "Get off me before my knees break."

"I'm still mad," Harry said when he did leave the circle of his arms. But his wide grin belied his words. He was practically _vibrating_ in place.

Arugba touched his arm. And the vibrations stopped. Harry rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, master."

"An extra hour of meditations in the morning," Arugba told him. "Go on, Harry."

After being given permission, Harry dragged Severus out the door. They walked along the street until they reached a little park at the end. It was mostly bare, but had a bench in front of an empty fountain. And Severus took a seat with a sigh.

"So you're still learning control?" Severus asked, half-teasingly, half-worriedly.

"Only when it comes to emotional turmoil," Harry shot back. "We're doing bigger things now, foundation work and construction techniques. It's dangerous having that much power at one's command. I understand why the goblins banned me from Gringotts."

"Do you know what kind of timeline you are working with?" Severus asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, and reached for Severus' hand, entwining it with his own. "Not seven years, definitely. But I'm not entirely sure. It's one of those things master and I really have to sit down and talk about. All I know for certain is that I need an awesome masterpiece, one that will get the goblins to approve me in spite of themselves."

"You should find out," Severus murmured. He squeezed the hand in his. "Is there a chance that path would lead to Hogwarts?" 

Harry fell silent. They had never really talked about the future. He wasn't used to the idea of having one, really. "I don't know. I mean, I could do maintenance on the castle, but I'm not sure I'm good for anything else."

Severus looked the young man over, a luxury he hadn't taken the last time they met. Harry had grown a couple of inches in the last year, but he would never be really tall. His hair was longer, too, and just as messy as always. Maybe another half year and it would be long enough to be pulled back from his face. It would show off those cheekbones of his. The biggest change, however, was to his build. His shoulders had broadened, and even under his loose shirt and trousers, the newly-added bulk spoke of a leashed strength.

Harry noticed him noticing and he flushed. "What does that look mean?"

"It means I am restraining myself from throttling you. I don't necessarily want you to work at Hogwarts." Severus swallowed. "But let's just say you'd be a lot more mobile than I could ever be."

Harry shook his head. He's not sure exactly what the older man is getting at. "I'll think about that when it happens. For some reason, Master Arugba is not teaching me about the specificities of the various fields that will be available to me when I gain my mastery."

Severus frowned. "Meaning they might _not_ be available to you? I never pegged the goblins as racist or the species equivalent. They're quite meritocratic in comparison to most wizards."

"Only in certain areas," Harry admitted. "And they have cause for it. I can learn this much, but no matter how much raw power I have or how much control I attain, there are avenues that are closed to me. I know how much I don't know. I can see the edges of it, the goblin culture and traditions that I will never really penetrate no matter how much I try." 

Severus nodded thoughtfully. "What do you like best about this kind of magic?"

Harry bit his lip. "I don't know. I like how free it is. Wizarding magic is so constricting and limited in comparison. Stone magic is about creating something. It's both an art and a craft."

Severus leaned back. "Potions are the same thing, though burdened by the limits of chemical and magical reactions and available ingredients. I think I would find it paralyzing to be able to make something without those same fetters."

"Well that's a simplification of course," Harry said, grinning at him. "Stone has limits too. Some are more brittle than others. Some hold spells better than others depending on their components and internal structure. And there's only so much magic can do. When it comes to engineering and construction, I think I've read fifty books about the subject and even so I'm only touching on some of the most basic limits and rules that we can work with. If I choose that specialization, I'm going to have to take a half-muggle degree and half-goblin one."

"It sounds compelling," Severus said though he hated the idea of losing Harry to even more in-depth studies.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure I have the aptitude for it. I like the design aspects, but my math is barely up to snuff. Maybe you need to look into changing the curriculum at Hogwarts." He smirked at him.

"You could have taken Arithmancy instead of Divination," Severus retorted. 

"And miss out on all that fascinating predictions of my death?" Harry said, laughing.

Severus stilled. "What?"

"Didn't you know?" Harry tilted his head. "Professor Trelawney supposedly picks one person in every class and spends the whole term predicting colourful ways they will die. I got lucky. Or unlucky, as it turns out." 

"Was she ever, shall we say, under the influence during class hours?" Severus asked in a silky voice.

"You mean drunk as a skunk? Maybe fifty-fifty," Harry said. "Why? Are you going to fire her?"

"Oh, if only it were that simple." Severus sighed. "Maybe I'll just demote her, change the format to a seminar and scrap the class altogether. It's utterly useless if you don't have the gift for it." He thought about all the politics involved in pulling that off, and shuddered. 

"You're pretty good at your job, you know," Harry murmured in his ear. "Headmaster Snape." 

"I try," Severus said dryly. 

Harry finally stopped dancing around the elephant in the room. "So how did you manage to free some time for a concert, much less some time for me?" 

Severus pulled out the time-turner in explanation. "I'll bring you back a few minutes after you left." 

Harry nodded. He had seen one before, back when Hermione was determined to do twice as much work as everyone in school. He and Ron had begged and begged her to bring them along so they could prank the twins, but she had refused. Hermione had been terrified about breaking the rules. He wondered if she was still terrified, now, after getting pregnant just when she was planning the next stage in her life. Maybe instead of waiting for an apology, he should take the first step. They were all old enough to let bygones be bygones.

"I'm sorry," Severus blurted out. "About giving you the wrong idea at the concert. I admire Professor Marvolo, of course, but please rest assure it is nothing more than that."

"Maybe on your part," Harry said softly. 

Severus opened his mouth, but thought once more of the older man's insistence. It was a little flattering to think of it as romantic interest. The man was rich and famous, attractive and charming, and their conversations were always interesting. But did the idea tempt him? Maybe if Harry wasn't in the picture. Even then, it was hard to imagine allowing anyone else to get this close to him. "I don't know. I'm terrible at relationships."

Harry smirked at him. "I know that much."

Severus huffed but smiled when Harry giggled. "I will make things clear with him, I promise." 

"Good." Harry stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "Now that that's over with..." He turned to him and straddled his lap. 

"Harry Potter!" Severus hissed, looking over his shoulder at the street beyond him. 

Harry uttered a Notice-me-not spell carelessly, hand on his wand. And then brought Severus' attention back to himself by leaning forward and kissing him. Severus held onto the younger man's hips and kissed him back.

They spent an hour just revelling in each other's taste, in imprinting on each other's skin. Sometimes, they just breathed each other's breath, and Severus looked deep into Harry's eyes. No spell necessary to read the emotions there mirroring his own. It felt like a reaffirmation of something they had both neglected this past year. It was so easy to be busy and take this for granted. Never again.

And then with the chain looped around both their heads, Severus spun the time-turner and they went back to their respective lives. Harry left him with one lingering kiss before he disappeared behind the door. Severus knew he looked the fool all the way home, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

He could _kiss_ Albus Dumbledore, the old romantic.


	13. The Wedding

Harry had written Hermione. George had told him where she was staying. It was surprisingly easy to pick up a quill and write her a note, even though he tried his best not to mention her pregnancy, in case it was still a sore point. He just wrote a bit about stone magic and Newt, secure in the knowledge that Hermione would find it all fascinating.

Instead of a reply, he got a simple cream invitation, wrapped in a bit of lace. At the back of it was written: _We'd be honoured to have you, Harry._ He recognized it as Hermione's handwriting, but it was signed by the both of them, so Ron was ready to make amends, too. 

_Good_ , he thought. He never really stopped considering Ron his best friend, but maybe they needed to grow apart to be able to be friends again. 

He ducked into Master Arugba's workshop proper to ask him about getting that date off. His master was at the forge, hammering a blade at the anvil while Newt watched. Harry tended to the fire, and watched alongside the house-elf.

"We're not supposed to touch weapons like that," Newt said after Master Arugba plunged the sword into the water for the last time. "I mean, the goblins have armouries of course, but they don't let the house-elves in even to clean them."

"That might have a lot to do with the number of suicides amongst the Freed," Arugba said calmly.

"Did house-elves use weapons during the war?" Harry asked, the invitation forgotten in his hand.

Master Arugba tilted his head. "I am not sure. It might be in the historical records, but there aren't many of those left." 

Newt shook his head. "No way."

"How would you know? Do your inherited memories reach back that far?" Harry nudged Newt with his hip, which bumped against the house-elf's head. 

Newt turned to him and glared, before shrugging. "No. Nobody remembers the war anymore."

Master Arugba examined the blade for any flaws in the metal. "The battles of goblins are well-documented both on paper and on stone, but the house-elves preferred oral histories and touch memories, so their past have always been more nebulous and less reliable." He turned to his younger apprentice and addressed him directly. 

"There might be some carvings that include the elves, though they are not archived in any particular way, and so would be difficult to find. But maybe your kin will know more, Newt. Why don't you look it up? Consider it a research problem. Don't be afraid to ask the goblins for help. I'll give you until tomorrow evening to find out." Newt's eyes were wider than usual, but he said nothing, merely nodding and disappearing with a pop.

After the other day, when Harry had learned about the house-elf's skill, the three of them had experimented. And Newt found out he was able to communicate with his master through touch, though it was more rudimentary and less nuanced than the memories he shared with his mother and other kin. Master Arugba was pleased by it, however. "A teacher must be able to learn from his students," he had said after.

"I need another day off in a couple of weeks to attend a wedding," Harry finally remembered to ask when it was just the two of them. "Old friends from school," he added. 

"You can have the whole week off," Master Arugba surprised him by saying.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but his master raised a finger. He subsided, waiting while Master Arugba carefully put away his tools and led him into the living room.

"I know you have a lot of questions about how I am teaching you," his master spoke again. "It's not a typical apprenticeship. Truth be told, the goblins would be horrified at the slipshod way I have been going about it. Partly, it is my own inexperience, and partly, it is instinct."

"Instinct?" Harry repeated.

Master Arugba met his gaze. "I could see your magic grow in different directions. I have let it be for the most part. I didn't want to influence it too much."

"This is about what comes after, isn't it?" Harry asked. "When I make it to journeyman?"

Master Arugba shook his head. "Apprentice to journeyman to master is the path of a traditional apprenticeship, of which yours is not. There will only be one final test for you, and you will be able to earn your mastery at the end of it."

Harry liked the sound of that. Then he asked the question he had been thinking about these last few weeks. "What paths are available to me once I make it to mastery?"

"No path except the one you make for yourself," Master Arugba answered. "There is something about your magic that is incompatible with a goblin's. Mine is a little bit like that, which is why I specialized in making small things like the charms, the jewelry, and the weapons. You will never be able to join your magic with another goblin to construct a dwelling, for instance."

Harry flinched at the baldness of the statement. "Never?"

"Which is not to say that the Builder's path is closed to you. You'll just have some limitations in terms of scope." Master Arugba smiled gently at him. "Did you know that the goblins built Hogwarts overnight? There were more Builders then, and they wanted to give the wizards a show of strength. It is, alas not something that can be repeated in this age."

"As much as I am enjoying our experiments in this area, it might be a little bit beyond me," Harry confessed. "Of them all, I might be suited to doing the same as you: making trinkets and charms."

"Don't draw your own boundaries too quickly." Master Arugba fell silent for a moment, before asking, "Why do you want to help the house-elves? Why now? You've encountered them before, have you not?" 

Harry fought the instinct to shrug. He straightened until his shoulders touched the back of the chair. "I didn't really understand before. But maybe that's an excuse. One year, my friend Hermione tried to talk to the house-elves about freedom. But they were so uncomfortable about it, they avoided her afterwards. I talked her out of it, because I thought they were happiest as they were."

"But now?" Master Arugba prompted.

When Harry spoke again, there was a faraway look in his eye. "I still dream about that moment on the mountain, when I had no control over myself. All I knew was hunger and all I was was an instrument for the one who made me. I wake up to terror. If there's a way to give the house-elves true freedom, to give them the same spirit as Newt's, I want to find it."

Master Arugba nodded. "There's a saying amongst us who answer the call of the stone: _Some things cannot be given; they must be earned. Some things cannot be found; they must be made._ "

"What does that have to do with my path?" Harry asked.

"You can only know it if you walk down it," Master Arugba said. "As you stand now, there is not much more I can teach you that you cannot learn on your own, whether from books or from experimentation. But your apprenticeship is neither a wizard's nor a goblin's. There are no levels for you to overcome and no positions to compete for." Arugba looked into Harry's eyes with an intensity that Harry could feel all the way down to his fingertips and toes. 

His next words sounded deeper somehow. "What comes after is a matter of desire. You know one thing you want to accomplish. Good. Find out if it is possible. Make it happen. Then discover what other things you want to accomplish. Only then will your path reveal itself to you. So take a week off, and come back with a plan." 

He turned around and walked back into the workshop, leaving Harry breathing too fast, still thinking of a reply.

\--- 

Hermione Granger took Ron back home for dinner with her parents. _I'm an adult._ She had to remind herself constantly, while enduring her mother and father's advice--well-meaning though a tad heavy-handed. 

She kept her head, and by the end of it, her mother softened enough to offer her the use of her old wedding dress. Hermione frowned down at the beads and sequins on the bodice, and it will have to be let out a little. _Good thing I learned some alteration spells for the balls at Hogwarts._

"It'll do," she said out loud, then managed a smile at her mother. "Thank you, mum. I really do appreciate it."

"Are you inviting us for the wedding?" Her mother asked almost timidly. 

It was so uncharacteristic of her that Hermione wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Of course, mum. I'm only doing this once, you know." She smiled at Ron, who smiled back.

\---

When Hermione found out that Ron's grandfather had been a Bencher of the Inner Temple, she let out a whoop that made poor Errol tumble off his perch and hoot back indignantly. 

"You don't understand," she told Ron, grabbing him by the shoulders. "The Inns of Court! That's my favourite place in the whole of London! And I can _get married at the Temple Church._ " She had been fascinated by the four Inns--which were concerned with the accommodations, entertainment and education of students of law--ever since she saw it on a field trip as a child, and she often dropped by to visit the gardens on school breaks.

That was one thing checked off the list. She had a binder of her own, now. It was all wedding-related. At first, she thought the whole thing was a waste of brain cells, but now she had changed her mind. If she was doing this, she might as well do it right. Molly had been taken aback by her new-found zeal, but even she knew to give way when Hermione decided on something. 

They managed to book a date and time, and she sweet-talked someone into letting them hold the reception at the Inner Temple Garden, a three-acre lawn bounded by herbaceous borders in brilliant colour. (Though she had to sign a waiver about paying for possible damages and they'd have to bring their own tents; she was going to have to ward it just to be sure.) She and Ron had a brief photoshoot on the central steps one afternoon, with a few choice snaps against the beautiful roses, catmint and calaminta on the side of the top lawn. (Colin Creevey did it for cheap.)

Whereas before, she had been a passive spectator to the unfolding events, now she had everything well in hand, which made Ron happier too. 

"I knew something was wrong when you didn't volunteer to do anything," he murmured to her while they were signing the invitations. "Now it feels real, doesn't it?"

Hermione nudged his foot with hers under the table, smiling when he blushed a little. "It does."

\---

Harry didn't even think about dates until he met Luna along the path under the trees towards the Temple Church. She was walking hand in hand with Violet. They were quite a sight: Luna in electric pink dress robes and Violet in a muggle pant-suit in a more sedate but equally eye-catching purple. When he caught her eye, Luna smiled shyly at him, while Violet winked. _When did_ that _happen?_

He could have asked Severus to come with him, he knew. But though he loved the man, he could be a bit of a downer, especially in a celebration like this. Who would want their old headmaster to watch over them? He remembered how Severus glowered at the students during Hogwarts' Balls, as if to say, _Don't have too much fun._

Besides, after a warning from his master, he had read up on possible time-turner side-effects. Over-use of the artefact could lead to disorientation, disrupted sleep patterns and fatigue. A little bit like muggle jetlag. Younger people could use it for longer periods without such consequences, which is why certain Hogwarts students had been offered its use. But after a certain age, the effects may compound. He had immediately sent Severus a letter to warn him to be more judicious in its use. And Severus had sent back a bemused but compliant reply. 

The church had a round roof, wooden pews in a dark stain, and beautiful stained glass on the east window. Some of the figures on them reminded Harry of the Fat Friar, resident ghost of Hufflepuff. It was a solemn place, sparsely decorated in white flowers. 

Instinct had him looking around for the twins. He spotted two particular redheads among a sea of them in one of the front pews. From the looks of it, George and Fred were sandwiched between a broad-shouldered giant that must be Charles and a long-haired man in deep blue robes that he recognized as Bill. They were probably the only ones in the room who could keep the twins under control.

Harry sat in one of the pews close to the back row just as the first notes sounded, resonating around the curved ceiling. It was Daniel, presiding over the organ. He played a cascade of notes like a glittering waterfall that gradually lost tempo before transitioning to the familiar strains of the Bridal March. 

Harry had a great view of Hermione walking down the aisle, her parents on either side of her. She had on a long cream dress with a sweetheart neckline. She was smiling really hard, and her hair was swept up away from her face with the distinct shine of Sleakeazy's potion. Harry felt a pang just under his rib; he hadn't realized how much he had missed her.

Standing in the front, Ron was beaming as well, his red hair newly cut, and his muggle suit a classic black with a dark green shirt. Hermione probably picked it out for him, Harry thought. 

The ceremony was not too long, but he spent most of it watching the expressions on his friends' faces. 

\---

There were colourful dishes laid out on long tables inside the snow-white tents. (Bigger on the inside.) A space in the middle was kept clear for dancing. Daniel played a few tunes, before setting up a spell of sort to keep the instruments playing while he took a turn around the floor in Fred's arms. Harry looked around for George and found him deep in discussion with Hermione's mother. It was a little surreal. He knocked back the glass of sparkling champagne, and refilled his plate with some of the little egg rolls, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

When he whirled around, it was to find Ron standing a little stiffly in front of him. Harry made it easy for his old friend. He set down his plate and pulled the idiot into a tight hug. Ron hugged him back, pounding his back a little. When Harry released him, they both pretended not to see the tears in each other's eyes. 

"Congratulations, mate," Harry had to shout in order to be heard above the music.

Ron led him outside in the fresh air. The tents had mufflatos on and the music faded away when he nudged the flaps closed behind him and stepped out onto the lush lawn. The trees gleamed with fairies. Their high voices sounded like the chatter of birds. 

"So you finally got yourself hitched. Were you scared?" Harry teased him a little.

Ron smiled. "My knees were shaking," he admitted. "I had nightmares of her running away again, you know."

"Really? I thought _you'd_ be the one with the second thoughts." Harry leaned against a tree trunk. It was light enough still that he could make out the orange-red tulips and yellow zinnias on the border at the edge of the garden. "I don't think I'll ever be ready for children."

"No chance of that, is there?" Ron's voice was a little too casual.

Harry almost flinched. He raised an eyebrow instead which made Ron giggle. "When Fred told me, I couldn't believe it. So you _are_ dating the headmaster after all. You look just like him."

"I do not," Harry grumbled, but joined his friend's laughter. 

When it died down, Ron looked away. "I'm sorry I acted like a berk. It wasn't even you and guys, really. I just jumped on the least excuse to cut you off because I was jealous of you for that entire year. And Hermione's sorry, too."

Even though it _had_ hurt, and even though it was hard to imagine them returning to the way they were, Harry slung an arm over Ron's shoulder. "I missed you too, you pillock."

They talked a bit more about their plans. Ron waxed poetic about his daughter-to-be. And then Harry told him about his apprenticeship.

"Do you remember SPEW?" Harry asked.

A look of pure nostalgia crossed Ron's face. "Hermione with a cause, Merlin yes. What about it?" 

Harry stared at the stars barely visible in the sky framed by the brick buildings. "I think I'm going to have to start one."

Ron started to laugh, and then stopped when Harry just looked at him. "Bloody hell, Harry. Of course you do. Will you save an entire species single-handedly through pamphlets and placards? It can't be done."

Harry shrugged off the words. (He sort of missed Ron's plain speaking. He was a lot like Draco--which would horrify the both of them. Ha.) "I won't know that unless I try."

"Dobby pined for you something awful after you were expelled, you know," Ron said. "He was inconsolable. Said it was his fault for not looking after you properly. Like he could do anything against a vampire. Look, the elves deserve freedom. I know that much. But they don't even know what they don't know."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the scope of their experience is so limited. They're like babies. Give them some clothes and it's the end of the world, because they've failed in some way. That's not freedom. They don't know what it feels like to be really free, to have the world open itself up to you. And how bloody terrifying and exciting that is. How can you teach them that? There isn't a spell that can do it."

"Some things cannot be given; they must be earned. Some things cannot be found; they must be made," Harry quoted softly.

Ron raised both eyebrows. "Well, if anyone could do it, it'd probably be you."

Harry looked at him disbelievingly. 

Ron shrugged. "You never quit," he said simply. Someone called for him and he excused himself, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the garden.

He picked up a pebble from the ground, letting it sit in the palm of his hand. The magic whispered through his veins, and the stone vibrated ever so slightly. He stood that way for a solid hour, just thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be finished posting the rest by end of the month. (Still gotta write that epilogue.)


	14. The Singing Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some late players here, which I obviously did not plan for; the dice just fell that way.

The house-elf had launched himself at Harry's legs, head knocking on his knees. "Master Harry! You's alive!"

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said gently. He was standing by the front door of Hogwarts.

He had taken the long way there, through the Regular. The Express was exclusively for students, and only ran a handful of times a year, while the Regular stopped at several stations. He had had a whole compartment to himself, and spent the time watching the landscape speed by, and writing notes in a notebook with a half-chewn biro. 

The trip was ostensibly for research purposes. (But he also just missed Severus.) And Harry arrived a couple of hours after dinner, hopefully when all the little tykes were safely tucked in their beds.

Instead of bounding straight for the Headmaster's Office, though, he knelt down and hugged Dobby back. Then smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you, too. But you really shouldn't call me master. Right now, Prentice Harry is my proper title."

When Dobby nodded reluctantly at this, he continued. "Do you have time? I want to talk to you about something."

Dobby led him to the Come-and-Go room. It was a room he had seen only once in his entire time at Hogwarts. But there were rumours about how it contained lost treasures, or could be anything you ask it to be. 

Dobby opened the door, and Harry peered inside. It looked just like the Gryffindor Common Room, complete with fire in the grate. He sat down on an armchair and gestured at Dobby to come closer.

"What would Prentice Harry wish to speaks to Dobby of?" The house-elf asked, bobbing his head, wiping occasional tears from his eyes.

"I just wondered how you were doing, Dobby," Harry said. "I don't know if you've heard, but I met other house-elves who are a little bit like you..."

A fierce expression crossed Dobby's face. "The house-elves is fighting much about it. But I am on Prentice Harry's side."

Harry frowned. "What exactly have they heard?"

"That Prentice Harry is going to lead the house-elves to Revolution," Dobby said proudly. 

Harry shook his head. "I think it's far too soon to say such a thing, Dobby. I'm just trying to find a way to give you all a choice over your own fates. My mind keeps going back and forth between _Can it be done?_ and _Should it be done?_ What do you think?"

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby's lost house-elves before. And also, there's happy and then there's _happy_ , you know?"

Harry did know. "Can we try something? Can you read my memory through touch?" Dobby's eyes widened. Harry hastened to reassure him. "I've tried it before. Someone taught me how." He held out his hand for the house-elf to take.

Dobby touched it with trembling fingers. Harry closed his eyes and pictured Master Arugba and Newt as clearly as he could in his head. Master Arugba's brief history lesson rang in his head, as well as the image of Newt working his magic on a stone. Dobby pulled away too fast.

"Who are they? They look..."

"My master's a half-goblin, half-house-elf. And Newt is my fellow apprentice," Harry explained. 

"The words your master was saying," Dobby began. "They're not true. House-elves work in houses, with wizards. That's how it is. He probably heard that tale; he didn't learn it the house-elf way."

Harry smiled sadly at the house-elf. "And freedom means letting go of that lie. How far back do your memories go, Dobby?" When the house-elf only shrugged, he asked another question. "Who's the oldest house-elf you know? What do they remember?"

Dobby's pupils had turned large as saucers. "So the old elves might remember what really happened?"

Harry sighed. "Maybe. Or maybe the spell the wizards used erased even that from them. I'm going to have to find out. Will you believe such a memory, Dobby?" 

"Memories don't lie. They can't," Dobby murmured those last words as if in prayer.

"I hope so." Harry got to his feet with some difficulty. "Dobby, you are a free elf, you know. You don't belong to me."

Dobby's face crumpled. "Dobby knows, but..."

"But what?"

"Without a purpose, what are we?" Dobby's voice broke.

"That's the most difficult question of all," Harry said. "But also the most hopeful." He smiled down at the house-elf. "You can be anything, Dobby. Maybe you'll be a teacher. Or a leader. Maybe you'll leave Hogwarts to be a traveller. You forge a new purpose by trying out new things until you find what you want to do." It was a little bit like his own training, he realized.

Dobby's tear-filled eyes looked up at him. "But what if Dobby _want_ to help you?"

Harry grinned. "Well I won't say no. I'm always grateful for your help, you know."

Dobby bit his lip. "Even if Dobby fail Prentice Harry? When you almost got turned?"

"That wasn't your fault, Dobby. Nobody knew Quirrell was..."

"But Dobby _did_ know. All the house-elves did," Dobby wailed.

Harry's jaw dropped. "And you didn't tell Severus about it?"

Dobby lowered his head. "He was a childe of the House of Arcadia. And old enough to be in full control. They is not monsters, Prentice Harry. Just dark creatures."

"Well _I_ almost turned to a monster..." Harry's voice rose a little higher.

"They would have trained you," Dobby said, ears drooping. 

"Did you know what he had planned?" Harry demanded the abject elf.

"No, but they keep house-elves, too. The vampires of that house don't kill when they feed, and they train the bloodlust out of the new ones. We didn't think they'd target a student. And especially not Prentice Harry."

Harry rubbed his eyes. Just as he thought he had moved on from that incident, it came rushing back. "I'm going to have to pursue that, Dobby. But I'll do it some other time. Do you know if Severus is busy?"

Dobby shook his head. "Headmaster is waiting for Prentice Harry."

"He is?" The thought made Harry smile, though it was wan and distracted. "I'll head on up there, Dobby. Could you please ask the elves more about this house you were talking about? And maybe ask who's the oldest elf they know."

At Dobby's vigorous nod, Harry thanked him, with a pat on his head as he walked straight to Severus's office. As he passed the hallways, a susurration of murmurs rose from the portraits. He gave them his bows, though his eyes were far away.

The gargoyle winked at him just as the door opened on its own. As soon as Harry stepped on the staircase, the steps started moving upwards, circling around. Harry's hand idly trailed across the walls surrounding him.

The stone warmed under his fingers and he shivered. He hadn't returned here for months. Magic was soaked into every corner of Hogwarts, and he was only just realizing this fact. The stone called to him. He leaned his forehead against a brick and just breathed. 

Someone cleared their throat and Harry looked up. Severus was standing in his office, arms crossed on his chest. And then he took a step forward as alarm danced across his face. "What's wrong with you?"

"Hmm?" Harry asked.

"Your pupils." Severus gestured. "Did you take something?"

Harry smiled. "No. But I feel all floaty."

Severus glared at the boy who never ceased to surprise him. He was such a pain in the neck--with what looked like some kind of magic-induced high.

\---

Harry was marched straight to the infirmary, where Madame Pomfrey greeted him with raised eyebrows and a fond smile that smoothed into her usual professional demeanour. He vaguely remembered that there was a potion to counter stimulants of any kind, (a question on his N.E.W.T.s) but this was the first time he'd tried it. It tasted bitter with a milky aftertaste. 

"You never cease getting into trouble, do you, young man?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Maybe I missed you too much, Ma'am."

Madame Pomfrey looked between him and Severus. "I'm sure you do. Don't stress him _too much._ It's bad for his blood pressure."

Harry laughed at the expression on Severus' face.

\---

Later, when they were alone back in his office, Severus studied him for a long moment before speaking in his typical deadpan. "This is worrying."

"The magic just rushed at me! I didn't even notice it at first," Harry said defensively, sitting back against the chair in front of the headmaster's desk. The potion had done its work, and he almost felt _too_ sober.

"Neither of those facts reassure me as to your continued safety and well-being here on Hogwarts." Severus' arms were crossed over his chest. 

"I'm fine. Hogwarts wouldn't hurt me," Harry murmured.

Severus sighed. "What did it feel like?" He asked softly, hand reaching up to touch the pendant Harry had made for him before.

Harry lifted his chin, meeting Severus' dark gaze. "Like being licked all over by an over-eager puppy."

Severus let out a choked laugh. "It recognized you somehow," he said, more soberly.

"Magic to magic," Harry said almost to himself. "Maybe I do have a place here after all."

Severus glared at him, then looked away without speaking.

\---

For the rest of the night, they avoided any contentious topic in favour of companionable silence. Severus got back to his paperwork, and Harry drank tea and ate biscuits from the kitchens while writing more notes down. 

Severus carefully did not ask about them, but he did ask, just as they were getting ready for bed. "Will you stay the whole week?" 

Harry looked down at his hands. "I don't know. I feel like I'm close to something; I just need to look at the dots again and redraw the lines to connect them."

"Well, just try not to disrupt my classes any more than you have to," Severus said in a brow-beaten tone, one so patently false that Harry almost snorted tea out of his nose.

In answer, he reached up to unbutton every last of the damn things on Severus' robe. "I'll try my best," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss every inch of skin revealed. 

The other man returned the favour, and they spent the rest of the night talking with skin against skin, in soft exhales and moans, with lips and tongue and teeth, and other more excitable organs. 

\---

As much as magically possible, Harry kept out of the students' way. (Hogwart's myriad secret passages were a lifesaver.) And he avoided the teachers like death, especially Professor McGonagall, Professor Marvolo, and Professor Lupin, for very different reasons. 

He knew Severus would not deny their relationship, but the other man wasn't entirely comfortable with having it on display in front of people he had to work with. And Harry needed the looks of disapproval and judgment like he needed a scar on his forehead. (And then there was jealousy towards the novelist, and a slightly irrational fear/anger for yet another father-figure who had abandoned him--who also managed to sprout fur and fangs a few days out of every month.) He had all sorts of reasons.

So he spent a lot of time taking long walks out on the grounds, visiting with Professor Hagrid and Fang--and whatever dangerous creatures he was keeping in his little zoo--and dropping by the kitchens after the dinner rush to meet with the house-elves. They were wary of him, a fact that pained him. But Harry understood and asked inoffensive questions and made sure not to demand anything from them. Dobby was conspicuously absent. 

He also took advantage of the library, although he now recognized how incomplete it was. There were no muggle textbooks, and very few unbiased sources for the histories he required. All he could find were useless euphemisms for what had been done to the elves. And a few scattered references to stone magic, such as in _Hogwarts, A History_ , and in some catalogues of goblin-made artefacts. (Those at least made for interesting reading.)

In the end, he took over a table in the library and spread out bits of parchment with his notes on them. His dots. How would one earn freedom? How would one make something that could be a repeatable experience, a reusable mechanism? On one scrap was written _The Heart in the Hollow._ Below it: _Loop?_

On other scraps: _touch memory; stone charms/artefacts; oral history._ There were some notes on magic's interaction with architecture, the same way sound resonates in a chamber. 

There were also some copied research about how muggle computers worked. Harry himself only knew the basics--he had taken to e-mailing his muggle aunt instead of sending owls--but he had walked around London enough to know the technology was growing so fast it was almost like magic. Muggles talking to each other through a clip on their ear, watching videos and playing games on hand-held, shiny, black rectangles. Most of the books on the subject that he had tried to read were incomprehensible. But he found some tidbits about caches and retrieval and long-term versus short-term memory intriguing, if not necessarily useful to him. 

And then he had an entire roll of parchment with everything he knew about house-elves. Their history as a people and as individuals, with names, specialties, houses, ages, etc. There wasn't much, and a lot of it was unsubstantiated. And without Dobby, he couldn't get any of the rest to elaborate on their answers to his questions. 

He had owled Newt to ask for whatever he could get from his family and others at Purgatory, but he didn't know when he could expect a reply.

He tapped his biro against the table, long enough and loud enough to earn him a pointed look from Madame Pince. Sorry, he mouthed, gathering up his things. He thought of taking another walk outside, but the skies had grown dark, and his coat was too thin for the weather. So he turned towards the staircase that would lead him to the dungeons. Nothing there but Slytherins and stone.

It was the stone that greeted him. Not the same initial heady rush of magic, but something like having a warm coat draped over his shoulders. Harry straightened those shoulders and walked through the corridors, fingers trailing against the walls. They seemed so plain compared to the goblins' tunnels. Wizards preferred tapestries and paintings to serve as their ornaments, and there wasn't much of those in the damp dungeons. 

Instead, he found corridors that led nowhere. They circled back or led to dead-ends. His steps echoed as he walked. And then he found a little alcove recessed in the stone. It was close to one of the foundation stones, which pulsed like a beacon, like a beating heart, though it must have the slowest pulse of any creature he had ever encountered. He wedged himself in the little corner, legs folded with his chin resting on his knees, and closed to his eyes to listen. 

\---

It felt like he was swimming through particularly dense waters, the current slow but strong, leaching his limbs of power.

Harry surfaced with a gasp, only to flinch away from the hand reaching for him. It was the werewolf, Remus Lupin.

"Are you alright?" The man asked, withdrawing his hand and stepping away with a blank face.

Harry managed a nod, and then his knees buckled when he tried to stand, and he had to endure that too-swift arm darting out to give him support. When he was sure of his balance, he jerked away, side-stepping the man and angling his body so that he's not boxed in against the alcove. "I'm fine, thanks."

He was about to walk away when he heard Lupin's soft reply. "Do you hate me that much?"

Harry raised his chin, meeting those amber eyes. "I don't know you enough to give a damn."

"I can smell your fear." The words were hard, edged in bitterness.

"Aren't you used to it by now?" Harry asked, keeping his tone almost mockingly light. "Walking out among your prey?"

"Harry," Remus Lupin began, holding his right palm out to him. "I would never hurt you or anyone in this school. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm not a monster."

Harry bowed his head for a second. "I trust Severus," he said instead, his tone conciliatory. 

"I'm sorry if you took offence about the house-elves," Lupin murmured. "I really was just trying to prevent their deaths. Suicide is pretty common in such cases."

"I know. And I didn't, not really." Harry said, turning to walk down the hallway, looking steadily ahead. The spot between his shoulder-blades itched as the werewolf followed behind him. "In all my time at Hogwarts, nobody's ever told me about you," he finally added. "Another bubble of silence. Do you ever feel that way? Like history's been wiped clean? One day my father killed himself, and suddenly the past twenty years or so did not exist."

He heard Lupin's sharp, in-drawn breath. It took a minute for him to answer. "Yes."

Harry whirled around, his hands clenching into fists. "Well I'm still here. Still your inconveniently dead friend's son. Still alive, still full of unanswered questions, and still trying to find my place in this world." He could feel the walls around him like a wellspring of magic, waiting. "It's easy to find excuses for you and Black, but the truth of the matter is, you let me down. You _all_ let me down."

He looked like James. The thought struck Lupin like a blade of ice through his heart. "What can I do?" He asked, voice breaking. "It's too late to..." His words trailed away as he swallowed a sob.

"You have two choices," Harry said evenly. "You can walk away. Keep doing what you're doing, and forget about me. Or you can do what Black is trying to do. Build something new, something that's not just about guilt." He studied the man's face in the sparse light of the dungeon's torches. "Think about it."

And Harry turned from him and strode onwards.

\---

It was only when he was climbing the staircase, letting the fresh air from a nearby window sweep away this anger-hurt simmering within him, that Harry remembered.

The stone.

The foundation stone had talked to him in a language he was just learning to speak. It had welcomed him, and had shared its magic with him, and had given him a gift he didn't know how to use. 

A memory of the goblins who had raised it from deep within the earth, and found it a place to lie on, and a job to do. Its purpose had vibrated through Harry's bones, making him feel like a plucked string on a lute. Like he was part of a song being sung in the past age, up to the present age, and for ages and ages to come.

\---

He kept on ruminating about what he had seen and felt, and was grateful when Severus left him in peace. It wasn't quite nine when he dressed for bed, and he sank into the soft mattress with a groan.

And then his plans for an early night were shattered when he heard two pops and a cleared throat. 

Dobby was back. And he wasn't alone. Harry sat up, flicking the lights open with his wand. The other house-elf had paper-thin ears, a million and a half folds in her face, and was dressed in something like a bathrobe, deep crimson, with a fringed hem that reminded him of elaborate curtains in some fancy hotel. 

"Dobby brought Leitha to Prentice Harry," Dobby said, bowing. "As well as a message."

"What is it?" Harry grabbed his own robe from the hook in the corner and wrapped it around himself, leading the two elves out into the study. Severus looked up, raised an eyebrow at his unexpected guests, and mouthed 'Parlour' at him before returning to his books. 

The parlour was rarely used, Severus preferring the study to deal with paperwork and pesky students alike. But the room was warmed, and there were two small chairs in front of the normal-sized one. And a pot of tea was steaming on the low table. The house-elves of Hogwarts had been more prepared than he. 

Dobby waited until they were all seated before he answered. "Leitha belongs to the House of Arcadia," he began. Harry's blood chilled as he heard that name. "They said she may help you as much as she is able in exchange for a favour."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. "What favour?"

"That Prentice Harry would agree to a meeting with the Head of the House of Arcadia, at his preferred time and your preferred location, and that Prentice Harry would listen to his words with an open mind. He gives oath to your safety." Dobby was uncharacteristically sober.

Harry studied the other house-elf, Leitha. She met his eyes. There was something there, something that reminded him of Newt. "Alright," he answered hoarsely. "Tell him yes." 

Dobby bowed and disappeared.

Harry leaned forward just as Leitha spoke. "What is Prentice Harry wanting to know?" Her voice was lower than most elves he'd heard. 

Harry had a list of questions somewhere in his bags, but he didn't bother to get them. "Please tell me what you remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh! One more chapter to go, plus a half-written epilogue to cap things off. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's still with me on this journey. I have to say I can't wait to be done. I didn't really build any conflict, but I still enjoyed writing this slow, meandering tale.


	15. Call and Answer

The rest of the week went by as if in the blink of an eye.

Harry was as ready as he could be, and yet he was still surprised when he opened the front door to Master Arugba's workshop and found a goblin sitting in the main room. She looked around middle-aged, wearing a deep red dress belted around the waist. Newt was serving drinks and Master Arugba sat on the chair across from him. They all turned towards him.

"Don't waste time?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at his master even as he made his bows.

"This is just a preliminary presentation. Think of me as your dry-run," the goblin instructed, after Master Arugba introduced her as Stone-smith Rivena. From her accent, she seemed to be foreign-born, possibly French or Belgian. 

Harry dropped his bag by the door, and took a breath. It was a good thing he had never been one to shy away from public speaking. Much. He leaned down and opened the bag, scooping the stone tucked almost at the very bottom. It came alive at his touch.

He straightened and placed the stone on the table. "I drew up plans," he began, meeting Stone-smith Rivena's eyes, as well as Master Arugba's and Newt's. "For a house. A square within a square, and extendable as needed. And it will be built of such stone." He gestured at the object on the table. "I'm not sure if it works on goblins, so perhaps Newt should begin. Will you touch the stone, Newt and tell us what you think?"

Newt's eyebrows were drawn together, but for once he didn't give Harry some cheek. He picked up the stone, first examining it. The colour was unremarkable: grey with streaks of brown. It's most distinct quality was its porosity and its unusually high density. Newt held it for a long minute. He turned pale, but otherwise did not react. Then he replaced it, gently, his hands trembling slightly. 

"I," he said slowly, softly. "I saw it, our old houses. I saw the wizards come. I saw us fighting, with the goblins at our flanks. And then I felt the spell." He met Harry's gaze with eyes that seemed too old. "Someone was there? Someone still alive today?"

Harry shook his head. "She was in her mother's womb then. The memory is her mother's passed down to her, made more vivid by her their bond." He cleared his suddenly tight throat. "That's just a test-stone. She promised to help me create a more complete picture of what happened. And there are others that have similar memories handed down to them." 

Master Arugba took the stone, held it with closed eyes, and then passed it to the Stone-smith without a word. She frowned down at it for a long moment, but nodded at him to continue.

"I requested permission from Headmaster Snape about having the Hogwarts elves hold the stone. He said he would think about it, but suggested that I test it out on freed elves first." Harry had not been happy about that, but he understood Sev's reluctance. "Dobby seemed convinced that it was a True Memory." He heard the elf's emphasis, even if he didn't entirely understand the distinction. "And he said he was willing to help me with the house." 

He took another deep breath. "I also asked the elves there to make their own memory-stones. Not of that event, but of their lives, and the lives of those that came before them."

"What are you thinking of making, Harry Potter?" Stone-smith Rivena asked.

"I want to recreate the Heart of the Mountain. I am keying all the memory stones to a single object. And designing the house so that everyone who walks through it will be able to learn from the stones, and leave behind a little of their own."

"A self-sustaining loop," Master Arugba murmured. "A labyrinth?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know if it will help. I still need to do more testing, and I've arranged to interview two more of the older elves to gather more memories. I'm also thinking of installing a pensieve for wizard visitors, but maybe not immediately. The headmaster agreed to let me build on Hogwarts ground, on the other side from Hogsmeade. There are some empty land there that could suffice."

Stone-smith Rivena nodded and then stood up. "I will talk to the goblins in charge of Purgatory and the guild that deal with freed elves. You will have your chance for test subjects. And then prepare for another presentation to the Stone Guild in three months. In the meanwhile," she looked away from him.

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"The goblins will have to discuss the possible consequences." It sounded ominous to Harry.

"I don't mean to create a mess," he murmured. "I just thought, if they had a way to create something together, something they can own..." He bit his lip at his own simplistic thinking.

The goblin laughed. "Don't worry too much, child. Sometimes, a single seed can change the course of a river. And sometimes, the old ways need to be thrown out with the rubble. I understand now why Arugba chose you. Owl me a copy of your blue-prints for review." And she bowed to them and left.

Master Arugba ran a finger over the stone again. "Thank you for this, Harry."

"If it doesn't work," Harry began, but his master held up a hand.

"A first step in the right direction. And if it doesn't work, then we will try again, won't we, Newt?"

Harry turned to his fellow apprentice, who hastily wiped the tears on his face. "Yes," Newt said soberly. "We will."

\---

By the time he had to present it to the actual Stone Guild, Harry had already made so much Memory stones that he was forced to buy an actual quarry. It was partly funded by his master, partly by the guild Stone-smith Rivena had spoken of, And partly a personal loan from one Sirius Black. He had also received a sum from the House of Arcadia but he sent it back. Better to owe his former guardian, another incentive to heal the rift between them. 

But Harry had to keep his word and meet with the vampires. Apparently, aside from Leitha, the oldest house-elves in the land were in the employ of various such Houses, who had made a deal amongst themselves to aid him. Over the last three months, he had had a good number of these elves showing up at his doorstep. 

The whole thing was so vague and shadowy that it left a bad taste in his mouth. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and by then, Harry just wanted it to _work_ so badly he would have made a deal with any and all devils just to make it happen.

And by the time he stood in front of the Stone Guild with his best Memory stone in hand, the whole thing was practically a formality. There had already been discussion after discussion about getting consent from old wizard families to free their elves; about proper compensation of their specialized magical labour and the economic implications; and about dealing with the backlash--the Ministry already had a small group of wizards fighting against so-called creature rights. 

As for his blue-prints, he had had to revise them so many times that Severus took pity and asked Madame Vector to tutor him in Arithmancy. Better late than never, he supposed.

After Harry finished his presentation, the goblins surrounding him had merely nodded, saying little except, "We'll see the finished House and judge accordingly." 

If Harry had the energy to grit his teeth, he would have. But he was exhausted and drained, and almost splinched himself, apparating straight afterwards to a spot just outside Hogwarts boundaries. 

He took a step forward and almost fell on his face. But Dobby popped to his side, and with surprising strength hauled him upright. "Where to, Prentice Harry?" His tone was formal, but not unkind. 

"Could you... Sev's room, please? Thanks, Dobby," Harry murmured.

The house-elf apparated him as directed and disappeared without a word. Harry didn't have the energy to think about his friend's behaviour. He took off his outer robes and collapsed on the bed.

Severus found him hours later, but declined to wake him. He ran his hand through Harry's hair a few times, then rubbed the man's neck and back until the knots there were unraveled. Harry made delicious noises but did not wake. "You brat," Severus murmured fondly.

\---

The letter came for him a few days later, written in a beautiful burgundy copperplate on thick parchment. It named a day a fortnight from then, and was signed _J. Lothe, Head of the House of Arcadia_

Harry replied with a location: Hogwarts. When he told Severus about it, his lover's face turned white. 

"He's of _that_ house?" He sounded like he was being strangled.

"The house-elves knew what he was," Harry said softly. "He wasn't a beast, they said. Which means he was doing it for a reason." It took all his willpower not to reach up and touch the odd discolouration that was the only souvenir of his near-turning. "Do you know anything about the vampire Houses?"

"Only that they wouldn't give me the time of day when I was asking for help after you were bitten," Severus said. "Arcadia is one of the most powerful of them. You can be sure his actions were sanctioned. They would have destroyed him themselves if not. That's why I thought Quirrell was a rogue. I'm surprised there weren't any repercussions when we killed him."

"Well I think it's because they're still not done with me," Harry said. 

"Be careful what you promise," Severus muttered. "And I will try to make sure all my other students are safe."

Harry bit his lip. "I didn't think about that. Sorry."

Severus sighed. "I think I prefer that you meet him here anyway. At the very least, help is close at hand. I'm going to have to talk to all the house-elves. And not just about what they should and shouldn't tell a headmaster."

Harry sat up. "Are you going to--"

Severus met his lover's eyes. Harry's face was still too thin and his colouring made him look like the undead. He grimaced at the directions of his thoughts. "Yes. I talked with that goblin group you had mentioned. When you finish this House of yours, I believe the elves of Hogwarts should be able to try it. I'm just not sure if I should free them before, or after. 

"I'm also negotiating to have the land transferred to communal house-elf property. The Ministry's not happy about it, but when the elves start demanding for reparation, it's a good political move to have something already in the works."

Harry slid his arms around Severus. "What would I do without you?" He murmured

"Wither away and pine like a maiden in a tower, I don't wonder," Severus shot back, but hugged him back.

\---

The 'J' turned out to mean John, a very prosaic name for a vampire, Harry thought. But the creature who came to him on the assigned day was most definitely _not_ prosaic.

John Lothe was tall, taller than Severus and thin, with long dark gold hair that fell down his back in riotous curls. He was wearing a red-lined robe, embroidered with black thread that shimmered against the black velvet; it covered him from neck to toe. His face was sharp, from a pointed nose to a chin that looked like a knife's edge. When Harry shook his hand, he felt the other man's wiry strength in his grip. 

He offered the vampire a seat in the room they were using, the Come-and-Go room, now appearing as a sitting room with red velvet drapes and heavy mahogany furnishings. On the table was a pot of tea, and an unlabeled bottle.

Harry's own heart was pounding, though Lothe pretended not to hear, whether out of politeness or politics. "Thank you for your help with the elves," Harry forced himself to say. "I don't know if you knew of my plans for them..."

"I knew," Lothe said, voice low and musical. "And I would not object. The vampires value loyalty, and would prefer house-elves to serve us out of choice."

Harry felt his cheeks burn at that. "But you still had Quirrell try to turn me without my consent."

Lothe leaned back on the chair. "The plan was for Quirrell to speak to you about becoming a vampire when you came of age. Biting you as he did, and initiating such a relationship, he made that choice himself." He sighed. "Of course, saying that now would be a mere excuse."

Harry's fists clenched under the table. "Why don't you tell me what you want from me?"

"Speak for us," Lothe said simply. "I noticed you had yet to make an official statement on the matter. You're waiting for it to die down on its own, I suppose. And that seems to be what's happening. But after the werewolves' legislative win, our Houses will present to the Ministry our own list of proposed changes. You can be sure your name will be dredged up again."

Harry stared down at his cup, eyebrows drawn together.

"There is also this house-elf business," Lothe spoke almost tentatively. "Whether you like it or not, you will be the eye of a great storm, Harry Potter."

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine?" Harry asked acidly.

The idiom seemed to confuse the vampire for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "We would have trained you to control the hunger. If Quirrell hadn't betrayed us too, we would have been prepared to help you. And we can do more for you now. If you speak for us, _we_ will owe _you_."

Harry took a sip of his tea. "If you hadn't ordered him to bite me, why didn't you and your oh-so-powerful House go after him? Your inaction meant that you approved, if in retrospect."

Lothe's lips thinned. "It is true that he was looking for a way to offer reparations for us when he tried to Claim you. We were bogged down in conflicting opinions, and the majority was holding out hope that the Change would take." He raised both his hands, palm up. "I admit we were guilty of opportunism. Maybe it is because we haven't been alive for so long; we've forgotten how traumatic the process can be on the unprepared."

Harry was predisposed to say no. (Bloody hell no, in fact.) But he was not the person he had been who had fallen head over heels for one Quirinus Quirrell. And he had learned enough of politics these past few months to read the truth in the vampire's pretty speech. 

"I will think about it," he said finally. "Keep me informed of your dialogue with the Ministry. I will not commit myself to becoming your mouth-piece. But perhaps it _is_ time for that interview. To gain public approval of this house-elf thing, if nothing else. I will try to limit Quirrell's damage of your own agenda."

"I suppose that's the best I could have hoped for," John Lothe said, a sheepish smile making him seem more human for a moment. "I will send you a copy of our proposal. And I really do apologize, Mr. Potter. But if I may be excused for saying, you would have made a wonderful vampire."

Harry laughed out loud at this, to Lothe's consternation. 

\---

When he had started on this path, he didn't know that he would end up here.

Harry looked over the plot of land. He had chosen and commanded the foundation stone to its place. It was kin to the one at Hogwarts that had spoken to him. The rest of the Memory stones were piled to one side. While regular granite blocks were on another. And all around him, freed elves were working together, marking and measuring, and hauling stones, and looking over the plans together. 

Having to revise the blue-prints so often gave Harry a new-found respect for math. His studies with Madame Vector were proceeding well enough that he was thinking of going ahead and applying to a muggle uni. 

Maybe he would ask Ron, who was an expert on the matter, according to Hermione. His old friend had volunteered to liaise for the goblins helping the elves, and was happily spending the rest of her pregnancy drafting letters to wizards and poring over dusty wizarding law books. 

A voice intruded into his thoughts. It was Newt shouting orders like a tiny army general. The house-elf was in the thick of the action. Even though he was the youngest of them, they all deferred to him and asked his opinion on all sorts of matters. 

It felt more like _his_ masterpiece than Harry's. On one hand, Master Arugba had been right that Harry could not work with either goblins or house-elves in the construction. Their combined magic often sent the stone on an unstable path. That there had been no injuries was a miracle. Finally, he had gotten out of the way. It was to be _their_ House after all...

On the other hand, the Memory stones themselves were proof that collaboration was possible. He had poured a lot of his magic in those stones. Their pain remade into something that would stand the test of time... 

The elves had started calling him Master Harry again. No deference this time; merely respect. Hammy had stopped asking him to bind them to his house. And none of them were wearing an embroidered P on their clothing. 

Purgatory still existed, though he thought the name will be changed soon. Or its connotation, at the very least. A good portion of the freed elves still worked with the goblins. But he talked to Newt and Master Arugba about the possibility of a school for elves. 

There was something in the air. Like a charge that was half-electricity, half-magic. Like tomorrow, anything could happen.

\---

The next night, Harry had a private dinner with Severus. Candlelit, soft tender meat that melted on his tongue, with buttery potatoes in mushroom sauce, rich dark red wine in tall-stemmed glasses. The room was warm, and Harry leaned on his chair, regarding his lover with a predatory smile. He extended one leg and it slid against Severus's ankle.

But his lover didn't take the bait. Instead, Severus pushed a band of intertwined metal across the table. Harry picked it up with a soft exclamation. It was Master Arugba's work. In the middle was an emerald, fire lighting up in its depths. "What's this for?" He asked.

"It is both a symbol of your mastery, and something else," Severus murmured. There was a discordant note in his voice, something that made Harry sit up and pay attention.

"Just spit it out," he said, when Severus kept silent.

"A symbol of a binding," Severus said softy. "I know you're a little too young. And it doesn't have to be now. But I'd like it if you..." He took a deep breath before meeting Harry's eyes. "Come live with me, Harry Potter."

"Bound then freed then bound then freed then bound," Harry murmured under his breath. Severus bit his lip. He knew he shouldn't have said anything so soon. And yet...

His thread of thought was cut off when Harry stood and slid into his lap, hand cradling the side of Severus's face. "If you're sure..." Harry whispered.

"I am," he whispered back.

"Then yes."

Through the lump in his throat, Severus asked. "Did you mean yes to the first, or yes to the..."

"Yes to both," Harry Potter said. "Put it on me?" 

Severus slid the band around his lover's wrist. And they sealed the deal with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time I reached this point, I just wanted it to be over. Hahaha. Sorry if I did not elaborate on some things and sped to the finish line like someone's chasing my tail. All that's left of this is an epilogue. Thank you for reviews and kudos and just your attention diverted to these words for a little while...


	16. Epilogue

Harry Potter apparated straight into their rooms. He had _talked_ Hogwarts into relaxing its wards for him. He was grateful for it now. Edinburgh was in Scotland, but it was still a good ways away, and was closer to North England than to Hogwarts.

His daily commute became so much easier when he didn't have to walk from the edge of the grounds. He dumped his architecture books by his desk; even with featherlight charms, they were hard to haul around, especially in the heat. Summer classes were a pain in the arse. Then he rushed to their bedroom to change into lightweight dress robes in green silk with a pale gold lining--a present from Draco, he of the excellent taste.

Tonight was date night. 

\---

All across magical Britain, others were getting ready for the same reason. 

Violet twirled a few times in her yellow dress while her sister took pictures and vids on her phone. "I want to take a picture of Luna, too," she said. "She always looks brill." 

"I don't think your phone can capture the amazingness of my girl," Violet said, ruffling Blue's hair. "Next time, I'll bring you, okay?"

Her sister made a face at the thought of being the third wheel. "No thanks! Maybe after I get a boyfriend."

\--- 

Remus gave up on the bow-tie and lifted his chin so that Sirius could deftly twist and knot it into place. "Dashing as ever, Moony?" He teased, his face softened by a grin that still made the werewolf's heart do complicated tumble turns within his ribcage.

"Don't you mean you?" Remus retorted, waving a hand at Sirius's gleaming attire. Kreacher had been freed, and the new one Sirius had hired was much _better_ at the job. "Are you going to pull tonight?"

Sirius grimaced, especially when he heard the elephant stampede down his stairs--Neville and Draco's competitiveness was getting _old_. "Can't. I'm chaperoning the tots tonight. You'll have to do it so I can vicariously live through you, old pal."

Remus turned his automatic grimace into something that could pass for a smile. "Maybe," he said softly, no looking his friend in the eye. "But I don't think so."

Sirius clapped him on the back. "At least talk to Harry tonight. It's hilarious how terrified you are of the boy. I promise you, he won't _bite._ "

Remus groaned and covered his face with his hand.

\---

Fred knocked at the bathroom door frantically. "Hurry up, Hermione! Daniel will kill me if we're late."

There was a whooshing sound then the door opened and a very angry, very round Hermione Grange emerged. She poked at his chest with a very sharp finger. "You. Don't. Mess. With a pregnant woman's bathroom time, Fred Weasley!"

Fred diffused her anger by bussing her lips. "You look amazing as always, sister dear!" And he scarpered.

Hermione stood with her arms akimbo, and stamped her feet making the hem of her sky-blue dress robes flare. "Weasleys!" 

Ron came down the stairs, looking smart in dress robes in alternating matte and glossy black panels, and gallantly offered her his arm. "You carriage awaits, my lady!"

She curtsied to him as best as she could, and they walked out of the house together. (Okay, she waddled.)

\---

And then again, some people were too busy.

Marvolo bowed and took the seat indicated for him. He removed a transcribing quill and a roll of parchment from his pocket, unshrinking them wandlessly and placing them on the table. "Thank you for consenting to see me."

Master Arugba tilted his head in acknowledgment. 

Marvolo cleared his throat. He was nervous, which was unlike him. "You understand that even though I will change the names and places, most readers will still be able to connect the tale to you?"

"Yes," Master Arugba answered. 

Marvolo wrote down his tentative title at the top: He of the House and the Hollow. He was just looking over the list of questions when the stone-smith spoke again. 

"I agreed to this interview because I also have a question for you, Professor Riddle."

The sound of _that_ name arrested Marvolo in mid-motion. He met the smith's gaze. 

Master Arugba asked calmly and without inflection. "How close were you to becoming Voldemort?"

It took a long moment before Marvolo answered hoarsely. "Terrifyingly so."

\---

Daniel ignored the lights, the murmurs of hundreds of people, and his own heart's pounding. He focused on the bow in his hand, and the violin tucked under his chin. Getting to this moment took a long half-year. He had had to pull together a bare-bones orchestra--a cellist and a pianist and two flutists--and regain competency at an instrument he had put down once. 

The baton circled the air and he pressed the strings, drawing a long note that deepened and then took flight. 

\---

It was a makeshift kind of place, relying on magic more than mortar for the acoustic quality that the music required. It was a far cry from the Conservatoire, but there was a different energy in the air. Harry thought it might be because the audience was more heterogenous. 

Seventh year students mixed with Conservatoire apprentices. Fans of Daniel's band mixed with classical music lovers. And even just ordinary people--housewives and shopkeepers, plus a corner dedicated to the entire Weasley clan. He also knew Black and Lupin were somewhere in the crowd, with Draco and Neville. And Violet had also promised to come. 

Harry doodled some design ideas on a scrap of parchment--he really should have a notebook for these things. They were for something Daniel had mentioned a few weeks ago--a permanent venue, smaller than the Conservatoire's music hall, that could also serve as a theatre in between concerts. He had been reading everything he could get his hands on about the architecture of sound and stage design. He could even use it as his thesis. 

And then the curtains rose and he saw Daniel on-stage, in a half-circle around a grand piano. A conductor's baton floated in front of them, and then it started to move, and the music followed its lead. 

In the audience, Carolus Cantatio leaned forward, fingers twitching, eyes on his stubborn, pig-headed, rebellious, _talented_ son.

Harry's own fingers had grown slack around the biro and parchment, lost in the music--which had a sad quality that slowly transformed itself, in variations that leapt and dove and led the listeners onwards, note by note. 

Beside him, Severus plucked the items out of his hands, tucking them inside his own robes, before twining a hand in Harry's. 

The band around Harry's wrist clinked against the band around Severus's. The two did not match; one had a shimmering emerald set in braided metal, while the other was composed of scales that overlapped with a clasp that looked like a snake biting its own tail. 

A present from Harry to his lover when they finally made their binding official. 

One song finished and another began. And from behind a second set of curtains, Daniel's band members emerged. Drumbeat and guitar riff harmonized with the orchestra's rich, vibrant music. Daniel's violin produced sounds almost like a human voice singing.

But all too soon, this song will end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done! I only realized today that the timeline of this whole fic is unrealistically based on um, Hermione's pregnancy. Sorry I couldn't be bothered to change the epilogue to a scene with Herm and her baby instead... I just love that waddle thing too much.
> 
> Anyone interested in a meta afterword? I have A LOT of notes for this series.


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